The Seed of Their Beginning
by alucinor
Summary: When Peter begins having dreams concerning the death of a loved one, he’s determined to do all he can to stop them from coming true. Soon he learns the consequences of playing a game when your opponent makes all the rules…
1. Ch 01

_A/N Set after the fourth season of KFTLC, I've made certain assumptions that will hold true for the story. I have also moved it into present day rather than when the series actually took place. This is done for more than convenience, although that is a factor. Also, for this story, I've pegged Peter's age at 31. _

_Further, the injury mentioned here is something that occurs after the end of the series and happens in an event that, at least thus far, is not discussed much in the fic. _

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_Time stood still._

_He was running; that much he was sure of. The darkness swirled around him, cloaking his surroundings in obscurity; making each sound the night conjured seem louder, closer – more threatening. Briefly he wondered at his ability to hear anything over the pounding of blood in his ears, but in his adrenaline created rush not a sound escaped his attention._

_He was frightened, but it wasn't as though he had never tasted the bitter flavor of fear before. In truth, none of this was new. It was part of the trade, as was learning to master it. It was being able to act in spite of it. But in all of his years, he'd never before felt that mind-numbing terror. The kind that now held him rooted to this spot, straining to hear a misplaced footstep._

_He heard nothing._

_That was why he feared… because he knew that someone – or something – was tracking him. He knew that whatever was lurking within the gloom was near. Its presence brought with it such malice that it overwhelmed his senses. He saw the glimmer of teeth in the dark, and with the last ounce of strength he had, he pushed off the tree he'd been leaning against and forced his feet to keep moving. He felt the presence slip away, allowing him to put distance between them._

_He was being hunted, and the predator following enjoyed playing with its prey._

_Then a blood chilling howl filled his ears; a challenge issued forth. The man wasn't sure if he was its target; didn't stop to find out. Nonetheless, moments later, a pain filled yelp answered his unspoken question. Something had gotten in his stalker's way, and, he noted with a hint of sadness as another cry split the air, it was paying for it._

_He had to stop and rest, there wasn't an option anymore. As he sat panting against another tree, he listened to the sounds of battle that assaulted the stillness of the night. He heard a human scream of pain echoed closely by another. Even in his weary haze he could tell that they had come from separate sources. The man didn't know much of what was occurring, and none of it made sense, but he knew that whatever hunted him wasn't the only one inflicting damage. He wasn't sure how long the fight lasted, but one of his last memories of the night was a sound – as from not far off, a lone wolf yowled: a mournful melody that challenged the night itself with its defiance and rage._

_He slipped down the trunk of the tree, and from the darkness the flash of teeth once more caught his attention._

_And time stood still._

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Peter Caine jerked awake, breathing heavily while his body shook in reaction to the fear of what he had just endured. There was a moment of confusion, as the after images of the dream played with his mind. He waited for them to completely clear away, and found himself tense as minutes passed and the ghost of the nightmare remained, though dimmed.

It hadn't been a simple dream; he'd felt the fear gripping his soul and the exhaustion of the chase. He'd been the one being tracked.. and yet, the thoughts that had been in his mind weren't his. The thought pattern didn't match. The 'him' in the dream had experienced many similar situations, though generally more in the role of the hunter than the prey. _Unless something went wrong. Unless someone turned._

_Wait, turned from what?_

The tension grew, and he knew with an ominous certainty that a vision was about to occur. Knowing didn't aid him much when, moments later, the expected assault on his senses came. He struggled against the onslaught, trying to keep his balance in the real world while the premonition tore his mind from his body.

It played out as it had for the last few nights in his dreams, though new details glared harshly, to his mind's eye, against the gloomy backdrop. It was raining, or, rather it had rained. The remnants of his clothing were drenched, and the chill brought with it the inevitable internal cold. The kind that went through the skin, soaked into the bone and left behind the fatal lethargy that precluded action.

He was mildly surprised that he was still moving, but he was – there really wasn't an alternative, short of accepting his own demise. He was too stubborn, and the desire to see his family again was so strong that it felt like that single wish was all that was keeping his heart beating...even if they never forgave him.

But as the chase wore on, and fatigue deeply entrenched itself into every muscle in his body, and even breathing was growing labored, he understood the end was coming. Calm reigned, an old soldier's grace, but acceptance of death wouldn't come. It couldn't end like this. Torn apart by whatever thing hunted him.

Whatever it was, it wasn't human.

The first howl made him flinch and he cursed his weary nerves that, normally ice in these situations, were done for.

Then it happened. Though he didn't comprehend the ordeal, he understood the significance of the fight being engaged. Something had just saved him, or, at the very least postponed the grim reaper's arrival – however briefly.

Unable to persuade his battered body into motion anymore, he barely acknowledged the conclusion of the battle. He was numb, the cold was finishing the job it had started; disorientation settling in for the final act.

In spite of the fuzzy state of mind, he couldn't miss the returning presence; although it felt different now. He couldn't ponder the discrepancy, however, the flash of teeth cut short any thoughts. The glistening, saliva covered fangs confirmed what he knew.

Drained of both energy and hope, his head dropped and eyes closed. When he opened them again he found himself gazing into a puddle of water, illuminated by a stray beam of moonlight that had broken free of the clouds that sought to contain it.

In the piercing blue eyes that stared back at him, Paul Blaisdell saw fear.

Once more the vision ended; the pieces finished clicking into place, and the why of Peter's dread obtained reason. Whatever else he felt, he was keenly aware of the fact that while the vision showed truth, it was showing a possible _future_ truth. It hadn't happened yet.

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Peter halted briefly outside the familiar stone building, allowing himself time to draw a deep, albeit shaky, breath and endeavored to steel himself from the unavoidable onslaught that would occur the moment he opened the doors. Exhaling slowly, he tried to imagine the tension and trepidation leaving his body along with the air. He could tell it didn't work completely – but it worked well enough to erase the visible traces of unease from his face. Really, that was all that counted here.

Without giving himself time to dwell on outside matters, finding himself suddenly grateful his father wasn't around, he entered the precinct; assuming what he hoped was a casual air. Moving with an innate grace and energy, characteristics that marked Peter as Peter, he bounded up the steps – only to halt once more as his senses assimilated and adjusted to the flood of emotions. Here it wasn't like walking amongst the members of Chinatown's community. It wasn't quite like anywhere, really. In most large groups, emotions generally came across as vague; individualized. One voice among many.

The precinct was different, to say the least. The agitation and rushed atmosphere were present in nearly all of those working, feeding off one another until the traits were amplified intensely. Peter actually had to take another deep breath in order to focus again. Normally it wasn't quite as difficult, but he had his own anxiety and worry to add to the lot, not to mention the sinking feeling in his stomach that insisted time was running out.

"Hey partner," Jody greeted cheerfully, unsurprised by his appearance at the station so early in the morning, in spite of the recent events that had given him the forced vacation. "That eager to start back at work, or did you just miss us?" She teased good-naturedly.

"Actually, I figured you'd all be going into withdrawal without the pleasure of my constant company. I couldn't, in good conscience, submit you to the torment any longer," his mouth curled into a fleeting smile as he directed his attention briefly at the blonde-haired woman.

"By all means, ignore your conscience," Mary-Margaret remarked from her desk.

"Funny…." Peter muttered dryly. He didn't bother to mention that he'd had trouble sleeping and now, as the result of dreams, was plagued by nightmarish visions of his foster father's death. He couldn't shake them, and the feeling of dread was persistently getting worse. The young Shaolin wasn't completely ready to deal with the visions, himself; he certainly wasn't about to drag Jody or Skalany into it. They couldn't help. At the moment he could only think of one person who might be able to.

"Actually, I'm looking for Kermit. Is he in his office?"

Jody arched a brow at the uncharacteristic seriousness of her partner. "Last I heard…"

"In that case, I think I'm going to go interrupt his conversation with his computer." He flashed a smile, but it didn't quite reach his hazel eyes. Moving toward Kermit's closed office door, he purposefully ignored the set of identical frowns that followed after him.

Frank chose that moment to exit his office with every intention of bellowing out his normal attention getter.

Peter patted the chief's shoulder on the way past, voice carrying clearly. "No, crime hasn't taken a holiday and, yes, they have work to do. My fault, I distracted them. Won't happen again." Despite the innocence embedded into Caine's tone, the chief wasn't fooled.

_Yeah, right. Until the next time, _Strenlich thought. He just stood there, however, and watched the younger man approach Kermit's door, knock once, and enter without an invitation. Shaking his head, he finally glanced toward those in the room and took in their quiet laughter. With a customary yell, he ordered them back to work and walked over to the Captain, who had exited her office in time to hear her young detective's absent comment.

"Caine's here," Frank said unnecessarily.

"So I noticed." Karen Simms' tone was curious. She knew well that Kermit and Peter were friends, and wasn't surprised to find him here a week before he was due back. Peter Caine simply could not sit around and do nothing. He had to be up, in motion; even his Shaolin training hadn't managed to change that. Regardless, she knew that his visit had reasons beyond friendship. That much she was sure of.

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Knocking once, Peter turned the doorknob and entered. The trace of a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the familiar sight of the hacker typing away at something, expression intense. Kermit's words brought him out of his reverie and caused the grin to morph into a wry smirk.

"Don't let the closed door stop you, by all means." Though the sarcasm was present, there lingered another element. Something more subtle but infinitely more dangerous. Peter paid no real attention to it.

"Never have, why start now?"

Griffin's head snapped up and a rare smile formed. "So, to what do I owe the visit. Aren't you supposed to be taking a vacation?" Right, he knew just as well as Simms had that Peter would be by before the end of his forced rest - all threats the Captain had made notwithstanding.

"I need your help." The succinct response was not wholly unexpected, but somehow still surprising. Well, as surprised as Kermit could be about anything.

"And I thought you Shaolin could do everything."

"Nah, it's just false advertising. They reel you in with the neat tricks and then you find out there's real work involved. Kind of dampens the whole deal." He took a seat across from the dark-haired ex-mercenary, ignoring the flare of pain that rose from his left arm when he leaned against the armrest.

"I bet." Kermit waited for Peter to continue, but the younger man seemed to have lost his train of thought; absently picking up a paperweight off Kermit's desk before replacing it and moving on to the blue pen laying there. To many, it would have appeared that the young Shaolin had become completely distracted, but Kermit understood that there was a lot more to the situation than met the eye.

"Whatcha need?" Griffin decided to prod him a bit, curious, but he didn't expect the next words out of his friend's mouth.

"I need you to locate Paul for me."

"That's quite a task, you realize." At the slight nod, he continued. "Can I ask why?"

The young Caine shifted restlessly, the action itself made Kermit grin faintly. Some things never changed.

"I think he's in trouble," the reply finally came as Peter began to tap the pen against the right side of the chair, as though seeking comfort in the almost rhythmic sound.

"Possible."

"Probable."

"You know something I don't?" Which really was a stupid question, Griffin figured, since likely Peter wouldn't have asked in the first place if he didn't. That the kid missed his foster father couldn't be doubted, but that wouldn't have brought him here asking for Kermit's aid. Oh, true, Caine had asked the older man, on occasion, if he'd heard anything, but he'd never actually tried to find Blaisdell. Although, Kermit was sure it wasn't because of a lack of desire to. The ex-mercenary got the distinct impression that Peter was trying hard to keep the desire of seeing his foster father again out of the equation. Something was up.

He watched the expressive face of his friend, and for some reason he heard warning bells going off in his head. Oh, yeah, something was definitely up. "Okay kid, spill."

"Mostly it's just a feeling. A hunch."

"A hunch?" Griffin replied dubiously.

"I started thinking about him a couple of weeks ago… don't know why. No, I know why I was thinking about him – what I didn't know was why I felt apprehensive about it." He took a deep breath, still trying to sort a few details out himself. "Then, a couple of nights ago, I started having dreams."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Let's just say they weren't pleasant. Then, last night, it escalated into visions. Haven't been able to think of much else since."

"So why'd you wait to ask me?"

"Figured I was being paranoid. I mean, he's been gone awhile – sometimes I tend to have an over active imagination." An expression touched Peter's face, too humorless to bear relation to a smile.

"You? Never." Kermit feigned shock, but the forced smirk Peter offered got him back on track. "So, what changed?"

"I don't normally have visions," he shrugged helplessly.

"And?"

"And the ones I have had have never been wrong." The statement wasn't boastful; the kid actually seemed despairing about the fact.

Peter was really worried.

"In these visions…" Griffin left the question open-ended.

"If we don't find him… he's going to die, Kermit." The forlorn tone left no trace of another plausible outcome.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Kermit." Peter rose from the chair, fixing the pen in his hand with a bemused expression before setting it lightly on the edge of the desk.

Deciding he could use more coffee before starting to put out feelers, Griffin rose too and walked his friend out. When Peter had managed to walk away a few paces, Kermit's question brought him up short.

"How long?"

Turning, hazel gaze infinitely sad. "I don't know."

In spite of the vague response, the ex-merc nodded. "Alright, I'll let you know."

"Thanks Kermit." He repeated the phrase, the now detached tone gave the impression as if he were operating on autopilot. Then, taking the other's answering nod as a parting, he turned away. Peter offered a few, distant, farewells: his mind already venturing well beyond the walls of the 101st.

Kermit retrieved his coffee and turned, heading back into his inner sanctum within the precinct without acknowledging the inquisitive stares that tracked him.

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"Think we should keep an eye on those two?" Frank asked quietly.

Simms was silent as she considered the situation. "If they are up to something, do you really think we're going to be able to stop them from doing anything?"

Strenlich sighed, the shake of his head the only answer needed.

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Peter walked the familiar busy streets of Chinatown; none of the well-known sights registering in his mind beyond an unconscious evaluation that placed everything going on around him into two categories based on whether it was a potential threat or not. Deliberately the young Shaolin priest was avoiding the section of town where he knew the Ancient resided.

His brain was chaotic enough; he lacked the ability to deal with more mind games.

Sometimes he got the distinct impression that his father and Lo Si garnered amusement from his confusion. Hell, even he found some of the situations funny. But right now, there was nothing humorous about the impending fate he could feel moving toward one of the people he loved. Waiting to befall the sole person in the world who bothered to look past all the attitude and aloofness and see into the core being of the lost kid Peter had once been. Paul Blaisdell had given him a new future, one that consisted of a mother and two sisters he couldn't imagine not having as a part of his life.

No, he wasn't in the mood to deal with riddles and they'd be ice skating in hell before he allowed chance to win this round; claiming his foster father as its prize.


	2. Ch 02

"What do you mean you can't find it?" The exclamation growled out by the detective was clearly rhetorical; he was alone in the close confines of his office with the door firmly closed. Momentarily he glared at the offending computer screen, which tinted green as a result of the ever present shades he wore. At least, he _hoped_ it was the glasses that were the cause of his skewed vision. By this point, he couldn't be sure.

Two days without any tangible leads and patience was wearing thin. There was no doubt in his mind about Peter's vision - he'd seen the kid do some amazing things. Too many to deny that it was real. Believing it didn't help him in locating the target, however. He'd put his feelers out the moment he'd returned to his office, and he'd barely left the room since. The lack of information gained was almost enough to make him angry, and maybe it would have seriously ticked off anyone else. But he was an old player in the information game, and knew that all it took was one tiny find to lead to the desired knowledge. It was the belief that he'd located that small gem that had Kermit staring at his screen well past three a.m.

He continued to caress the particle of data he'd found hidden in the depths of the cyber world, trying to milk the source for all it was worth. It was slow, tedious work, but that was the way the business often worked. Kermit had grown used to that long ago, and when the stakes were this high …

Well, there wasn't anything the ex-mercenary wouldn't do in order to see one of his few friends back safe and sound with the family who had so grieved when the man had left. In some ways, maybe it had hurt them more than his death could have – knowing that Paul had chosen to leave. Forget that none of them knew all the details surrounding Blaisdell's choice.

The hurt had shown in them all, though Annie had been the best at hiding it. She said she knew, in her heart, that Paul would come back. Kermit couldn't help but wonder if in her heart, she knew whether or not she'd forgive him if he did return. He would never ask, of course. Annie had forgiven Paul so many times in the past, but she'd never forgotten. That much Griffin knew.

Carolyn and Kelly had been upset, understandably. But growing up, they'd also endured many of their father's _'trips'_, and while none had ever lasted as long as this, they were simply used to Paul coming back home. Eventually. Kermit didn't doubt that they'd both forgive their dad, which didn't mean there wouldn't be some interesting conversations between them.

Peter's initial reaction to Blaisdell's departure had been typical Peter. He knew the kid had even had moments where he questioned his own worthiness, as if that had anything to do with why his foster father had left. As if he hadn't been good enough for the man he had clearly held in high regard. Over time, the younger Caine had grown quieter on the subject, coming to the point where he'd avoid talking about Paul at all if he could help it. Yes, Paul's leaving had had deep repercussions on all of his family, and Griffin suspected that the shock-waves from the initial impact had yet to be truly felt – if Peter's reactions were anything to go by.

Kermit knew the depths of Peter's capacity to forgive, even at the cost of his own emotions. He forgave because he knew those in his life needed it, but that would never quell the anger and confusion in his heart.

Anger had a way of turning inward, this Kermit knew from experience. He had his own level of irritation over Paul's hasty departure. After all, the man had brought Kermit here, to the 101st, and then he'd up and left. That was something the computer expert would deal with, in time, but right now there were more important matters: like finding Paul.

A nearly wolfish expression curved his mouth into a smile as data began filling the screen. Well, at least he had it narrowed down to a continent. His gaze skimmed the rush of information and gleamed in interest.

Hell, they even had a region.

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Paul Blaisdell knew that trouble was coming. Instincts, long ago honed to that specific frequency, were sending messages to his brain, prompting him with the expected flight-or-fight reaction that nature had engrained into the subconscious of every animal that walked the planet. Right now, those alarms were telling him to run.

He'd known that the business here was risky. Weren't they always? But Myanmar was chancy at the best of times, which this clearly was not. In spite of the government's attempt to increase tourist travel to the country, it remained a trip best left for the wary. Between being the world's second largest producer of heroin and the military controlled government, it wasn't a place for the faint of heart.

He'd come in with a few old friends to try and deal with the influx of exported heroin into western countries. They'd stuck to the more urban areas, for the most part, where the tourism that did exist in the country was present in higher quantities. It served to blend in as much as they could while their intelligence was gathered and recon was being done. They'd all stayed in privately owned guesthouses, behaved in a very touristy fashion; if somewhat reserved. And they avoided the Tatmadaw, the Burmese military, with the practiced ease that only came from years of building such survival instincts.

And yet, somehow, all the planning and care taken to ensure success had gone to hell in a handbasket. They'd found out that an outside group, thus far unknown by any real name, had a very high interest in the exportation of the semi-synthetic opioid. When they started getting close to figuring out who, that was when everything started falling apart.

Two of the team had been taken out by the military itself, under the guise of terrorist activities, not long after arrival in Yangon. Mostly due to the fact they never entered a country together, the rest of the team had remained intact. They'd moved on, enduring the loss with the silence born from years of courting death. Nobody went in planning on dying, but they'd all been too close to death for too long for the relationship, with the reaper, to exist on anything but a first name basis.

When they had gotten a name on the figurehead of the exporting group, they'd gone in. The man had been slain, left for them to find, and they found themselves in a very bad situation. They'd been set-up; Paul had known it even before seeing the body – the prompt arrival of the military only served as an unneeded emphasis, like pouring salt on an open wound.

He'd looked around for the remainder of his team, but true to form, some of them had already rabbited. Survival instincts, he reasoned, but apparently those instincts were only operating at bare minimum otherwise it wouldn't have come to this.

Cursing whatever, or _whoever_, had brought it to this, he took off in the darkness. For awhile, he actually believed that luck was on his side. He slipped past all the soldiers, all those who might have recognized him for what he was. He'd made it back into the heart of Yangon, back to playing tourist, and he'd almost made it back to believing that his luck was still with him.

It was a nice fantasy, shattered by the patrols that had begun throughout the city. Searching, and he knew for what.. or whom as it were. Him. And they were growing closer. He couldn't hide in the attire of the region, he'd stand out more that way than he would in his western garb. That had been the primary reason for not dressing like the locals, they were operating under the plan of blending in by standing out. It had worked in the past. It had worked when they'd first arrived here. It wasn't working any more.

The shout sent him running, and he thanked whatever deity there might be for the looming darkness.

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Leaning against the wall in Kermit's domain within the precinct, Peter tried to stay calm. It was getting increasingly difficult the more he learned about the potential whereabouts of Blaisdell. He attempted to think peaceful, happy thoughts.

_Yeah, like that was going to do any good. This isn't Neverland and you aren't dealing with Captain Hook, _an inner voice supplied snidely. He considered telling it to shut up, but in a moment of classic Peter Caine understanding, realized that he'd only be telling himself to be quiet.. and some would suggest that as being abnormal. Not that he'd ever really been normal, whatever that was.

"I narrowed down, initially, to Asia, through some contacts in the area who know Paul. Said they'd seen him in China a little over a month ago. I tagged that bit of information, and followed it into Myanmar, where, apparently, Blaisdell and a small company gathered less than a week ago." Kermit was leading his friend through the process so that Peter could understand why he came to the decision he did.

Peter suspected it was also so that he'd appreciate the trouble the hacker had gone to, but he didn't harp on that since the praise would be highly deserved. Not to mention that even if that idea was part of the reasoning, Kermit wanted to find Paul too and wouldn't let petty things like ego stand in the way of that. It wasn't in the computer specialist's nature.

"They traveled together?" Peter was mildly interested to learn who his foster father had been working with.

"No, in a situation like that it's rare to go in together. Draws too much attention. More likely that they arrived at different times, over the course of a few days to a couple of weeks. I know that Paul arrived there less than a week ago, I can't say when the rest of them did. Or rather, I could, but it's not overtly important."

"Alright, so.."

"Yeah, he stayed in Yangon initially. They all did, blending in with the natives. My guess is they were working on the drug smuggling that the country is known for, but I couldn't guarantee that without further research. Two of their number were lost almost immediately." Kermit knew he was laying out a lot of information for the kid. Normally he wouldn't share it, knowing how much Blaisdell sought to keep this part of his life away from his family. But fair was fair, and Paul had brought this on himself. Peter needed to understand exactly what was going on and that meant he couldn't sugarcoat the details.

"Working on.. as in someone hired them to take out a drug ring?"

"Could be. Like I said, I'd have to do more research. Some of the details are sketchy or unknown simply because of the area. It's under military rule and several sections of the country are off limits to tourists. Information gathering in these zones can prove costly, and I don't have any contacts in the country that I trust and who have the ability to do the job without getting themselves killed."

Peter nodded absently, before fixing Kermit with a pensive look that belied his relaxed tone when he spoke. "So, when do we leave?"

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"What do you think that's about?" Mary-Margaret wondered aloud, apparently to Jody, as she continued to watch the closed door as though it might offer her mind some insight into the thought patterns of the two currently within the office.

"Who can say with those two?" Powell replied, though equally curious for all the casual response.

"Think they'll tell anyone?" Skalany asked before shaking her head in answer to her own question. "No, of course not."

"Probably not, but given the circumstances there are only two people, that I can think of, who would cause Peter to behave like that."

"What makes you say that?" Mary-Margaret inquired, well understanding that Kwai Chang was one of those unnamed people and not feeling like exploring that aspect.

"Whatever is bothering him can't be related to any cases, we wrapped up that robbery case with Peter over a week ago – as you know. He doesn't currently have any open cases given that he's still on forced leave.. and as far as I know, other than two people, the members of his family are all well and accounted for. Doesn't take a detective to put the clues together."

Jody smiled, to soften the jab, although she knew Skalany wouldn't take true offense.

"You think it's Caine?"

"I don't know, but do you think Peter would really go to Kermit if it was?"

Mary-Margaret considered that a moment before locking eyes with her friend. "Blaisdell?"

Jody shrugged, frowning ever so slightly. "In a way it doesn't really matter right now. They're not going to tell us anything."

Mary-Margaret narrowed her dark eyes in thought, agreeing with her friend even as the annoyance grew.

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He'd known that was coming, it was why he'd been so forthright with Peter in the first place. Nobody who knew Peter Caine would have thought the question surprising. Kermit toyed with the idea of trying to talk his friend out of going with, but the truth was that he was going to need help. The few in the business that he trusted were unwilling to enter Myanmar, were already there, or were already engaged in wars of their own. And whatever else, he needed someone at his back that he could trust without question. Peter was that person.

There were other factors involved. Myanmar was a country influenced by those that surrounded it, which included China. Almost ninety percent of the country's population practiced Buddhism. The religion, cultural influences and any Mandarin, or even a few of the other Chinese variants spoken, were things that Peter would understand better. He'd grown up immersed in such a culture. While Kermit had traveled, he couldn't imagine ever knowing some of those details better than his friend. And, he, himself, didn't speak much of any dialect from China. While the majority of the Myanmar spoke Burmese, there were those who spoke one of the variants of Chinese as a first language. Never mind the fact that if they ended up having to exit through China, the first hand knowledge of the languages that Peter possessed could prove an asset beyond price.

That wasn't taking into account any 'tricks' that might help along the way.

He sighed. Just because he understood the necessity, didn't mean he liked the situation. Peter might be a great cop with abilities the rest of them could only attempt to fathom, but he still wouldn't be prepared for the lion's den they were about to enter.

Then again, Kermit hadn't been the first time either.

"I debated two courses of action: either going into Myanmar through one of the surrounding countries borders or going straight into Yangon. I opted for the latter, simply because in the long run it'll establish us better. We'd have to sneak in the border from one of the other countries, and if we encountered any resistance we'd have no papers to support our claimed reason for being there."

"Which is the desire to broaden our lives through touring a military governed country that _allegedly_ abuses its own people."

"Right," Kermit ignored the sarcasm and proceeded. "All international travel by airplane arrives at Mingaladon International Airport. It puts us about twenty minutes away from the downtown area of the city. Once there, it might take some intel gathering before we know where to proceed. I lost Blaisdell's trail at the border into the Rakhine State. I know he went through the Ayeyarwady Division, and we'll have to journey that way, but we'll have to gather supplies before trying to enter Rakhine."

"What's so different about it?"

"The state is separated from the rest of the Myanmar by the Arakan Roma mountain range." Kermit took a moment to bring up a map on his computer and indicated for Peter to take a look.

"Are you telling me we have to go over that?" Height issues notwithstanding, that would take time.. time that Paul didn't have.

A hint of a smile graced Kermit's features at the expression on the other detective's face. "No, we'll be taking the sea route." That they'd have to be extremely careful went unsaid.

"How long do you expect this to take us?"

"Couple of days. I have contacts, regarding the information side of things, currently within the country. We can secure transportation through them."

"You trust them?" Peter questioned curiously.

"For transportation and gear, sure."

"And to not sell us out?"

Kermit pushed his sunglasses back up to their rightful resting place. "If we're not out of that country within a few days, we're dead anyway."


	3. Ch 03

Peter leaned casually against the wall near the window, allowing himself a look out into the bright world of Myanmar. In spite of the glow that seemed to surround the splendor of the aged city, it felt tainted to the cop. It was almost as though, if he listened long enough, he could just make out the whispers of anguish and despair that even the beauty couldn't gloss over. Softly the words formed, tapping his consciousness with their wispy presence: a trap.

A sad smile tugged at his lips.

Yeah, a tourist trap. Myanmar really was trying to coax paranoid travelers into its heart. Problem was, Peter was currently in that heart. . and he could see into the dark soul that accompanied it. There was so much wrong here, he couldn't even begin to think of a way to help.

Oh, the city had an interesting history and the truly wonderful things to view were among the oldest parts. Like the Shwedagon Pagoda, that Peter had played tourist and gone to see. There was something about being inside such an old temple that put the young priest into a somber mood; in part due to the memories that rose, unbidden, from their murky depths. Memories, not surprisingly, of his childhood. The temples may not have been similar in overall tone, but there lingered a shared ambiance. Something almost surreal, but he knew that was just the whimsical nature of memory toying with his emotions.

Still, he was glad to have seen it. From where he currently stood, he could just make out the golden top. The sight prompted fleeting curiosity of what the Pagoda had looked like upon its initial construction. After so many earthquakes had damaged it, over the course of centuries, he wondered how much it resembled its original intent.

Intentions were funny things, and time often distorted them.

His wandering thoughts found themselves focused on Kermit's words of over a day prior. His mind considered them with a certain calmness, even as his blood ran cold. Peter had accepted that this mission, for lack of a better word, could claim his life. That didn't concern him as much as it probably should have. What did weigh heavy on his mind was the implied risk of failure, that any mistake on his part could cost Paul his life.

It was this turn in thought that provoked his awareness into coming full circle, once again taking conscious note of the handful of other people in the room – even if his trained mind had never truly stopped keeping tabs on them.

"Look, Kermit, I've risked a lot just to get you that information." The contact spoke in indignation. With his sun-streaked blond hair, dark tan, and mischievous blue-green eyes, Ethan Jamison looked more like a surfer than the soldier-for-hire that he was.

Griffin's answering smile was anything but pleasant, even while his response was deceptively level and amiable. "I know _exactly_ what you had to do to get it, Jamison."

Anything else he may have said on the subject was cut short as one of the contact's men began speaking, in a Chinese dialect, to Peter – who merely blinked in reply. A raised brow from Kermit had Jamison translating immediately.

"Apparently this man thinks your friend is a priest." The contact clearly found the notion amusing.

"Really." In contrast, Kermit's tone was dry.

"Guess he doesn't know what kind of company guys like you keep, huh Griffin?" Unfazed by the neutral silence that followed the remark, the blond-haired man turned toward Peter. Yet his question was directed at Kermit. "Just what kind of company are you keeping these days?"

"That remains none of your concern."

"Hey, no. Just didn't think I'd see the day when you took a novice into a fight."

Peter didn't bother responding, he was only half listening anyway. His attention had been gradually pulled away by a feeling in the pit of his stomach; resting there by the dread he felt for Paul's impending fate was a coiled tension that had begun to grow only a few minutes ago. There was a distinct sense of foreboding, one that didn't have anything to do with his foster father.

"Kermit, we need to get out of here." He spoke before he meant to, and was almost surprised by the sound of his own voice. They had precious little time, but it would be enough. It had to be.

"What it is, kid?" Griffin, to most in the world, appeared relaxed – but the ex-merc knew that tone and that expression.. that oddly distant focus. It was one of those Shaolin tricks.

"Your _partner _is getting edgy Kermit. And you're planning on doing this with him?" Jamison shook his head, snickering. At a slanted glance from his old acquaintance, Ethan held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, it's your ass on the line."

"There are two, maybe three, armed military guys coming. I'd rather not be here when they arrive." As he answered Kermit, Peter was already picking up his share of the supplies, deeply thankful for the choice in meeting locations. With any luck, they'd be able to make cover in the trees that were less than a hundred meters away. While not truly a forest, it could conceal their movements long enough to get away.

True to form, Griffin hadn't wasted any time in gathering his own supplies. There were now warnings going off in his own head, courtesy of senses long since sharpened into deadly form. Yes, there was something out there. Confident in his own survival instincts, Kermit couldn't help but think that the kid's capabilities definitely came in handy.

Jamison apparently had something of the same idea, minus the knowledge of where Peter's prediction came from, because he followed them out the window and into the vegetation beyond - lingering long enough to hear the old wood splinter as the door was forced open, hinges groaning in protest of the rough treatment.

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"Has anyone seen Kermit?" Jody sighed in frustration when the answering replies were all in the negative.

"Terrific," she muttered.

"What's the problem, Detective?" Captain Simms' voice was lightly probing, mostly as a result of the subject of Powell's search. Karen had noticed the absence of the dark-haired ex-mercenary over the course of the last couple of days. She'd been paying closer attention to his presence, partially because of suspicions concerning the meetings between her best detective and her favorite one. Obviously, she hadn't been watching carefully enough.

Not that it really mattered. As she'd told Frank before, if Kermit and Peter were up to something, there wasn't anyone presently around who could stop them. Where was Kwai Chang Caine when you really needed him?

Deciding to come clean on the matter, Jody answered her captain honestly. "I haven't been able to get in touch with Peter since he left the precinct the other day. And now…"

"And now Detective Griffin is missing as well."

"Seems so."

"Is there anything to suggest foul play could be behind their disappearances?" Simms' tone was mild. She didn't believe that; wherever Kermit and Peter currently were, they weren't there as a result of anything other than their own choice.

"No Captain."

"Well, Detective Caine is still on leave. He's allowed to do whatever he wishes." Karen didn't bother to comment on Griffin's empty office; nobody really told the ex-mercenary what to do. He'd always made his own hours. Sometimes she swore that anytime he actually behaved like a traditional detective, it was purely coincidental. Then again, he was hardly the only atypical detective she had working in this precinct. It only stood to reason that they'd disappear at the same time.

Jody nodded her acceptance of the Captain's words and headed back over to her desk.

Simms entered her own office and closed the door behind her, ignoring the hushed voices coming from the direction of Mary-Margaret and Jody. She understood their worry. Wherever their computer expert and Shaolin priest were, trouble couldn't be far behind.

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"All the items you requested are there," Jamison said as his ocean hued gaze swept the treeline, wary of anyone trailing behind them, in spite of the nine hour truck ride they'd just endured without any signs of having been followed. They'd long since crossed into the Ayeyarwady division.

"Then we're done here." Kermit secured his pack over the short-sleeved shirt he wore, before picking up a semi-automatic rifle; giving it a once over before, apparently satisfied, he moved on. Gone as the suit and tie might have been, the green tinted shades remained – enhanced by the deep emerald of the shirt.

Peter finished pulling the nylon belt of the holster tight, firmly fixing it to his left thigh. He checked the buckles twice before placing the beretta into the snug holder. It wasn't _his_ 9mm, but it would suffice. Sliding a ka-bar into a sheath laced above his ankle, where it would be hidden from view by his pant leg, he straightened and reached for his pack once more. Settling it comfortably on his shoulders, he too picked up a rifle.

Without a word, Kermit headed off – Caine trailing after at deceptively relaxed pace.

"Yeah, you're welcome!" With a roll of his eyes, Jamison hopped back in the truck and turned the vehicle around; heading back toward Yangon. Ever mindful of the unwanted military presence, he decided to head to the market in a nearby village. Nothing like a little brush with the law, and half a day's driving, to bring about one's appetite.

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"So, good friend of yours?" Peter asked wryly. He was sitting contently against a rock cropping; one leg stretched out in front of him, the other drawn up near his body, offering his elbow a place to rest. Here in the shade, the sweat streaming down his back was functioning as it ought to – providing his body with a much needed cooling system.

"Jamison?" At Peter's nod, Kermit continued. "He's useful for supplies and information."

"Work with him much?" The cop in him, oh hell.. the _him_ in him, couldn't help the curiosity.

Behind those dark lenses, Griffin shot the younger man a look. "On occasion."

Peter took that for the conversation ender that it was. They might be here, doing the mercenary style thing, but the past was still something that was mostly off limits. He could handle that, for now, it wasn't like there weren't other things to think about. Problem was, it was out of an attempt not to think about those particular subjects that the young priest was quizzing Kermit – as big of a risk as it could be to pry into the mysterious history of the man.

"Why don't you get some rest. We have an hour to wait." Approximately, anyway, Griffin estimated.

As if those words were the magic trigger, Peter blinked, only to find his eyelids had grown much heavier than he remembered them being only a second before. Tipping his head back, he tried to invoke an inner serenity that steadfast eluded him. They were taking a break from the heat, waiting for the sun to finish its downward journey through the heavens. They had a little bit of time. It wouldn't kill him, Peter supposed, if he just closed his eyes for a minute.

He didn't want to sleep though.

Of course, he should have known that want seldom played into the equation when one's body decided it had had enough, and demanded rest to replenish itself. The second time he blinked, the world turned fuzzy. The third blink didn't come.

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That he was being followed was obvious. He'd known it was too good to be true, too easy to slip out of the city undetected. Even the truck ride across the division had been uneventful. The scenery had been gorgeous; something a real tourist would have unloaded rolls of film on. Absolutely nothing to suggest sinister forces lurking behind the bright, friendly atmosphere.

It was all a façade.

He knew it now. From the moment he'd departed the city in such haste, he'd become the prey. Oh, he'd lost those soldiers soon into the chase. That hadn't been overwhelmingly difficult; though he wasn't completely sure at the time whether it had been due to skill, luck or a complete inadequacy on the pursuers part. By all rights, they should have had him before he got clear of Yangon. He hadn't understood it then.

He understood it perfectly now. It was a game, orchestrated flawlessly, and every move he made was being countered by his unseen opponent.

Like a game of chess, the hunter was expertly moving his pieces. He had lulled Paul into a near sense of security before pulling away the blinders, allowing his prey to see truth for what it was.

The reality had come crashing down, and the feeling of desperation that washed over him was stronger than he'd encountered before. It was that same wild-eyed fearlessness that came over many prey animals – especially those used to being hunters themselves. He didn't plan on going down without a fight.

Yet, so far that's what he'd done. He had been herded along this route, after entering the Rakhine state while still under the influence of his delusions. The reasoning behind this prolonged action didn't escape his understanding either. The predator was having a grand time in its play, perhaps almost reluctant to let it end. But end it would, as it brought Paul closer and closer to its choice of battleground. Blaisdell wasn't a fool. His body already ached beyond belief; old muscles and bones protesting each and every demand placed on them now. Even if he managed to make it to the hunter's prime location, it wasn't going to be a battle. Fuck, he'd be surprised if he did more than roll over and die.

Cursing a weary spirit, and himself, for allowing such thoughts to descend, he prodded his tired frame into faster motion.

A malicious howl greeted the increased speed, a pleased sound if ever there was one.

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Peter jolted awake; the moisture trickling over his back and chest causing him to shiver violently. The cold seemed firmly implanted into the cells of his flesh, and he couldn't shake it … because it wasn't his.

"Kid, you alright?" When he didn't get a response, Kermit came to a crouch by the Shaolin. "Pete?"

Hazel eyes slowly showed a dawning focus and the harsh tremors subsided. Watching his hand, which continued to shake despite his best efforts to still it, Peter swallowed. "Just a dream."

"Just a dream hell. You saw Blaisdell again, didn't you?" Well, nobody ever said that Kermit was stupid, or tactful.

"He's in the Rakhine, already. But we knew that."

"Yes, we did." Though his voice betrayed no emotion, his face likewise a mask of neutrality, a thousand thoughts raged through Griffin's mind. The jumbled mess they kaleidoscoped into wasn't something he was about to spend the time sorting out just now. He waited.

"Whatever it is that I said was after him, in that vision.. its already started the chase. The game was on before Paul even left Yangon. Check."

"Check?"

"Yeah… you know." Peter tried to talk without letting his chattering teeth be heard. He wasn't wholly successful, but at least the words were distinct enough to understand. "Like in chess."

"Chess?" Kermit blinked, the only sign of frustration hidden safely behind the deep green barrier.

The younger detective shrugged helplessly. "Not my analogy. I guess that's the way Paul feels. That his hunter is getting ready to move in for… checkmate."

"Game over."

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll just have to get there first." Kermit straightened up and went over to quickly check his supplies. They really hadn't used much, so they were doing well. Other than a few bits of food, a bottle or so of water, everything else remained intact – including all of their weaponry. The last fact was fortunate news in light of Peter's most recent dream.

The dream didn't really change anything. Although, if they hadn't known the score before, they certainly did now. Something occurred to him.

"Did you see the location?"

"Location?" Peter blinked in confusion, finally managing to calm the phantom shivers.

Taking a moment to remind himself that his friend wasn't used to the fairly new talents, that they still exacted a huge toll on his ability to focus, Kermit allowed a deep breath to fill his lungs. Exhaling softly, he finally spoke.

"Blaisdell's location. Did you see anything that might narrow our search?"

"Just a lot of trees." Closing his eyes, Caine tried to picture everything the way he'd seen it. All he got in return for the effort was the feeling that his foster father was losing the game.

_Whose game, dammit! And why am I even thinking of it as a game? Because Paul is? _

"Let's get going. We have a boat to catch."

Slowly, Peter nodded his compliance. Dragging himself to his feet, he waited for the earth to settle before reaching over for his pack and rifle. With a certain cautiousness, he straightened and stretched stiff muscles. Satisfied that he could remain vertical, he followed as Kermit led the way through the thickening darkness.

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They'd left the boat behind them.

_Boat? _Peter couldn't help the weary snort that escaped him at the thought of calling the barely floating object a boat. To him, it seemed hardly more than a few logs tied together with an ancient rope. _Where did Kermit find his supply guys?_

Trudging along, he was willing to give the drift wood its due – it had managed to get them to the Rakhine shore in relatively one piece. . splinters not counted. But that was all it had done; like some clichéd scene in a movie, the damn thing had fallen apart practically the moment Kermit had gotten his stuff off it and started wading through the final few feet of water – leaving the 'boat' hidden.

Where there had been something reasonably solid, there suddenly was nothing, and Peter ended up soaked. True, he hadn't lost anything; only wounded his already tender pride. He'd live, but come hell or high water – he was _not_ getting on anything like that again.

He was about to tell Griffin just that, when he pulled up short, gaze narrowing in concentration. Kermit stopped almost immediately, and Peter could tell there was some annoyance in the ex-mercenary's stance. He ignored it. Something felt familiar here. Something felt strangely like home.

_Paul. _

But it wasn't his foster father, of course. The young Shaolin had a strange moment of clarity in which he just _**knew **_the direction that Blaisdell was, in relation to their current location. What was present, almost directly beneath one scuffed hiking boot, was a dried patch of blood.


	4. Ch 04

Moving his foot back a matter of inches, Peter knelt down without saying a word. Lightly his fingers brushed over the blemish the land offered up to the observant hazel gaze; the blood was little more than a deeper darkness among the night. It wasn't a matter of vision, the lack of light prevented one from seeing more than that. His mind, however, saw what his eyes could not - the ruby stain that corrupted the soil like some unforgivable sin.

Paul's blood, of course.

That's why his psyche had reacted so strongly toward its presence and reeled from its having been shed. Never mind the fact that the blood indicated something deeper, almost symbolic.

The game had just stepped up a notch.

Where before it had all been a chase, whatever hunted Blaisdell was now moving in for the kill. Peter couldn't be sure how quickly this predator would seek to bring its quarry down; slowly perhaps, if the almost casual pursuit was any measure to go by. Regardless, it would happen tonight. First blood had been drawn, and the smell was intoxicating.

_What the hell? _

The priest quickly drew his hand back from the dirt, as if contact with the cool earth had burned the flesh of his fingertips. For long moments he simply stared at his hand, as though it had betrayed him.

"Caine?" Kermit's voice was wary, alert eyes focused on his friend even while his other senses remained trained on his surroundings. When his inquiry received no response, he tried again. "Peter? What is it?"

Still, there was no reply, and as the minutes ticked by Griffin seriously began to wonder if the kid hadn't gotten lost in some corridor in his mind. Something the ex-merc couldn't imagine having happen to himself, ever aware as life had taught him to be, but he'd learned that there was something to the metaphor. Especially when you were dealing with a Shaolin.

"It's Paul's blood."

The murmured words were somewhat shaky, and Kermit couldn't fully understand why; it was little more than a drop, though it could indicate more serious wounds. What it really meant, however, was that the time was growing near and they had to catch up to Blaisdell soon. Any hunter would be moving in for the final strike before long, this Kermit knew from his own nature.

Griffin harbored no illusions that he, himself, was every bit the predator as the creature they followed. After all, they were hunting the hunter, right? And Kermit had every intention of eradicating its existence.

In spite of that knowledge, they had time. The creature had shown no inclination to hurry its action, so he felt reasonably confident they'd get there before it was too late. Why then was Peter so disturbed? Without question it had to be something appealing to those Shaolin senses only.

"I figured." He waited for the kid to continue.

Instead, Peter rose and walked off; altering their direction slightly, Kermit noticed, as he found himself trailing behind. But the younger man's stride was confident, quick paced without being rushed. He wasn't recklessly racing into the unknown as he might once have done.

Through practiced ease the computer expert caught up without seeming to exert himself. Slanting a sideways glance at Peter, he noticed the guarded expression lingering in dark eyes. That, Griffin could understand. It was the emotionless mask that had consumed the rest of his friend's features, casting them in marble, that had the ex-merc uncharacteristically worried.

Something had happened back there; whatever it was Kermit had been oblivious to it, and he wasn't talking about the blood.

Such thoughts occupied a corner of his mind for awhile so that he almost didn't notice it when Peter came to a stop once more. Crouching down, expressive gaze holding a feral cunning in it, the young Shaolin's face had gone immeasurably cold.

_And hold on, was he sniffing the air?_

Kermit was suddenly reminded of an animal testing the breeze for scent of prey. For the first time in a very long while, the ex-mercenary felt an icy shiver creep down the length of his spine.

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Paul paid little attention to the laceration that cut viciously across his arm. It had bled freely for a time, but seemed under control since he had tied a torn portion of his shirt tightly around it. The drizzle of rain, that had begun an hour ago, served to help keep the wound clean; even if that was the only helpful thing the light shower did.

The sweat that the day had prompted, and that his enforced movement still caused, now felt like ice as the weather took a cool turn. To add to his current misery was a set of four agonizing gashes that marked his midsection, prompting tremors of pain to course through his body each time the rain caused old sweat to cascade into the open flesh. It was almost enough to make him wish that the inevitable chill would come, causing all feeling to vanish. Almost.

Breathing was an interesting affair in its own right. While the air wasn't cold enough to inhibit the action, the combined fatigue and pain were pushing it toward that end.

At least he'd seen his stalker, face-to-face. Nose to nose, or nose to muzzle, as the wolf shredded the soft flesh of his chest.

Didn't that beat all. The thing that had hunted him relentlessly since his departure from Yangon had turned out to be nothing more than a glorified dog. And yet, it was infinitely more. As he'd stared into the orange tinted eyes of his attacker, he'd seen something that had left him profoundly stunned.

It wasn't simply the cool intelligence that lurked just behind the bloodlust, or the restraint the creature had shown in the way it had wounded him; drawing blood, causing pain, but nothing life threatening … yet. Somehow, underneath all the animal aggression, Paul had caught sight of something more familiar. Something human.

The thrill of the chase and slow method of the kill, wasn't normal behavior for wolves. Blaisdell knew this at least. It wasn't really like any animal, except for the two legged variety. God, Paul had dealt with the bestial side of human nature enough to recognize it, even if it came in an unexpected form.

His mind toyed with the idea as he rested his badly beaten body against a tree. The remains of his clothing had long since soaked through, bringing a flesh numbing chill with it.

If asked, he couldn't have told anyone what that thing was. Sight of it had cut off any thought of his hunter being truly human. Nothing with eyes like that could ever lay honest claim to the term, and it had nothing to do with the creature having four legs; he'd seen men who could never hold the designation of human.

And never mind the fact that such malevolence was contained in the shell of a wolf; the twisted pleasure the creature derived from this sick game chased away any notion that he was dealing with a natural animal. Forget how stupid that might have sounded. He'd been around too many Shaolin, seen too many crazy things, to doubt what little sense his mind was offering him.

That didn't tell him what it was, though. It also didn't help him find a way out of this mess.

He cringed involuntarily when the howl pierced the night, cutting through the last of his nerve like a knife. Come what may, Paul Blaisdell finally accepted his defeat.

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Kermit glanced over at his friend, who was standing motionless once more – completely oblivious to the rain that was pelting them both.

With his head cocked slightly to one side, Peter looked as if he were listening for something. "Did you hear that?"

The distance in the voice kept Griffin from bothering to respond. Since the moment they'd crossed the bit of blood, trying to talk to Peter had been like communicating with a brick wall. It was odd, really. Kermit wasn't one to pursue conversation often, usually only when it was to gather information. He felt comfortable in silence, and rather enjoyed the mystery it created about him. It was amusing, in a way, and usually kept people at a safe distance.

However, this was nothing short of wrong. The energy that was Peter Caine, normally barely contained within his own skin, now only made the essential motions. And in the times like now, when he paused for whatever reason, it was eerie on so many levels. The absolute stillness of the man.

It was almost like Peter had ceased to be himself.

_Oh, yeah. Now you're sounding insane, Griffin. Get a hold of yourself. Lucky the old man can't hear you. _

Kermit Griffin, cracking under pressure. Not likely. Wasn't going to happen. He'd seen this weird shit before. Well, okay, not precisely this exact level of strange – but close enough. Hang around any Shaolin long enough, Kermit had come to understand, and odd stuff was going to happen. Not to mention that for as long as he'd known him, Peter Caine had been a nexus for trouble. Trouble of the creepy kind wasn't that big of a step up.

Accepting that he wasn't really going to get any answers out of the younger detective right now, he simply followed when Peter started walking again. Though not a follower by nature, nor really a leader for that matter, Kermit understood when such action was necessary. Ego wasn't even a factor; acting in pride would just get a person dead.

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Distantly Peter thought he heard himself speak. Had he asked Kermit a question? He had been about to inquire about that when another howl caught his attention. Oh, that's right. He'd been asking Kermit whether or not he'd heard that before. Didn't matter now because he was sure of what he was hearing. The second cry had confirmed it in his mind. Without thinking twice about it, he set off in the direction of the commotion.

What a melee it sounded like, too. It consisted of several pain filled yips, indicating that a strike had found its mark, as well as various other sounds that told of defiance and challenge. The fight wasn't all that far off, he thought, and it was confirmed when he sensed Kermit tense – though the hacker never broke stride. There was a new alertness to the man, something had changed in his scent.

The thought caused Peter to swallow hard.

_Kermit's scent?_

Those invading thoughts, he understood, were the cause. Once more they assaulted his normal senses and took control. They weren't Paul's; that was a known certainty. His foster father's thoughts, while foreign, had filled him with an impression of familiarity. Of the known.

These new instincts were wilder, more animalistic. Feral.

And they unnerved him.

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Naturally he wished that he hadn't lost his gun in the last attack, but there was nothing to do about that now. He had heard the sounds of battle end a short time ago, and he waited.

Odd still, to think it was going to end here. Not that he'd ever deceived himself into thinking it wasn't possible that he'd die overseas, in some country many people had never heard of, let alone been to.

Propped up against a tree, knees bent up to his chest, he wrapped his good arm around them and tried to ignore his protesting ribs. He must have bruised a few, maybe fractured. It hardly mattered.

He couldn't move, and he briefly wondered if he was frozen to the tree itself. He was pretty sure Myanmar didn't get cold enough for that, even if he did feel like a human popsicle.

It only served to reason that he saw the glitter of moonlight off sharp teeth first; it was, after all, what he'd been waiting for. Even looking for. The eyes that shone out of the darkness at him seemed more golden than orange now, but through his bleary vision everything was suspect to error. Sighing, he closed his eyes and dropped his head.

Opening them one last time, he found himself gazing into a puddle of water. A faint rush of amusement touched his thoughts at the stark fear he saw in the blue eyes that stared back at him.

_Glad that's not me._ Through the haze, logic tried to protest. _That's not me, is it? _

He raised his gaze to the flashing teeth once more, and an answer sounded in his mind.

_No, that's not you. Not anymore. _

Well, that at least was comforting… wasn't it?

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Peter entered the small meadow; a natural grace was present in his movements, so much so that for a moment he seemed part of the night itself. One of its creatures. As such a creature, he knew that Paul was nearby. Within the aroma of fear and pain rose the familiar and welcome scent of his foster father.

The young priest knew that he'd connected, on some level, to the predator that he and Kermit trailed. That was the reason for the change in his thought process. It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, and though he hoped it would be the last – reason calmly explained that it wouldn't be. Given that, he tried to use whatever it was to his advantage, even if the closeness to such a psyche made his skin crawl.

Paul's life was at stake, Peter would cope with it. He had to. That foremost in his thoughts, he moved smoothly forward. His pace had quickened, an almost animalistic eagerness overtaking him. He barely kept the near recklessness of it in check as he approached the treeline once more. Paul was there, and nothing was going to keep him from reaching one of _his_ pack.

Kermit traveled only a step behind, the moonlight highlighted the open area nicely and shined in a brilliant green glow to the mercenary's eyes. He'd abandoned his trademark glasses in favor of the night vision goggles, and found no irony in the fact they kept the world green. That was the way life was meant to be viewed, he'd become convinced of it.

Catching sight of motion within the trees, he raised his weapon and continued forward. There were wolves around, and despite the unanswered questions of earlier, Kermit was certain that those howls had something to do with Paul's hunter. A thought nagged at the back of his consciousness, concerning wolves, something about their mannerisms. He pushed past that and concentrated on the matter at hand. If they didn't get past dealing with this, then the rest didn't matter anyway.

When a wolf broke cover and bounded toward him, baring its teeth, Griffin didn't hesitate to pull the trigger – felling the animal immediately.

An angry growl echoed in the forest.

Kermit didn't even flinch. Peter had disappeared behind a tree, and the computer expert followed. Within a matter of strides, he found himself once more surrounded by the vegetation. That was irrelevant.

Almost directly in front of him, with his back to the mercenary, knelt Peter. Next to him was the man they'd come to this hellish country to find.

Peter had set his weapon on the ground as he gently took stock of his foster father's injuries. The unconscious man was of no aid, for the moment, so the younger Caine did the best he could in his evaluation of the situation. That Paul was hurt, there was no doubt. But hurt enough to where moving him outweighed the risk of staying here? That was the inquiry put forth by his mind; his fingers probed the upper section of Blaisdell's arm, as well as the flesh that overlay his ribs, trying to answer it. Two ribs were definitely cracked, how badly he couldn't tell without applying more pressure – and doing that would be foolish.

Serious bruising had already set in over the bulk of the man's chest, and extended into his lower abdomen. The angry purplish-black marks also encased the entire upper arm and caused the laceration present to stand out harshly. It had stopped bleeding, unlike the ribs. Most likely due to the less severe nature of the wound, but also due to the pressure of the make-shift bandage that Paul had applied.

Removing his pack from his back, he fished out the dressing that they'd seen fit to bring along. Binding his foster father's midsection as tightly as he dared, he then taped it in place. Peter also took a moment to clean and dress the arm wound. That having been done, and secure in the knowledge that Kermit was watching his back, he closed his eyes and worked to center himself.

Slow, steady breaths silently touched the air as the elusive peace that he'd been seeking for days finally settled over his mind and body. The tension drained from his form, and his focus shifted from his surroundings to the still unconscious man next to him. Peter rested his own hand lightly on Paul's wrist, fingers loosely grasping the cool skin.

His thoughts became a glowing blue entity; a vibrant hue that spread out through his body and slowly worked its way into the flesh of the wrist he was holding. It seeped down until, hitting an energy pathway, it flared up. As the healing energy pushed forward, meeting the faint tan force belonging to Blaisdell, it gently immersed itself into what remained of Paul's own life-force.

He didn't seek to overpower the tan energy, as some were wont to try; Peter understood that it did more harm than good. Rather, the cerulean essence simply sought to empower the other, to allow it to rebuild itself back up to normal standing. The reason few attempted this route wasn't entirely without merit. It was a time consuming process and it exacted its toll on the one sharing.

Peter pushed past the initial fatigue that came with the contact, and continued to offer what help he could to replenish Paul's fragile energy. Some time later, how long he couldn't be sure of, the tan force finally seemed to be responding. It had grown stronger, taken back up its task of regenerating the body that housed it. That was progress; any movement from his foster father's chi was an improvement.

Distantly he heard a groan, and the small part of his mind still trained on the real world informed him that Paul was regaining some semblance of consciousness.

Another sound was heard, and he contemplated its origin moments before something solid connected with his body and knocked him clear of Blaisdell.


	5. Ch 05

Luckily for Peter, he'd allowed his mind that small slip back into reality before the force of the blow yanked him brutally into full awareness. Had he still been entirely linked to Blaisdell, that brusque severing of the connection would have played hell with the priest's mind. He would have been easy prey.

As it was, Peter found himself blinking rapidly to clear the after images of the light from his vision. Even as his senses sought to restore balance and order to the current chaos reigning, he found himself pushing up with his forearm and meeting resistance. Furry resistance.

He closed his eyes, feeling the slavering animal's spit wetting his face, running down his neck and collecting in the hollow at the base of his throat.

The leverage he had, slight as it was, was the pressure he was applying to the wolf's trachea. He'd been fortunate that his arm had caught the beast there; it was the only thing preventing the creature's lethal teeth from finding the soft flesh of the young detective's throat and ripping into it. Peter was perfectly aware that the predator attacking him was waiting for a mistake – just one – that would allow it access to the vital blood vessels located there. Either the carotid artery or the jugular vein - didn't matter. Slash through those, and the battle was over.

He had to regain his feet somehow, but trying to fend off an animal, with approximately a hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle backing it, wasn't a minor feat. Especially when it already had him down. But he tried, and as he endeavored to do so his senses finally began to return. Although, for the moment he could have done without vision.

Staring up at saliva dripping fangs and bloodlust filled orange eyes, he resisted the urge to gag as the snarling wolf's breath finally registered with his brain.

_God, that's nasty._ _And a dog's mouth is supposed to be cleaner than a human's? _

Absurd, the thoughts that found their way into his head right now. He'd have smacked himself if it wouldn't have given the wolf just the opportunity it needed to finish him off.

He wasn't going to be able to get up like this. Peter needed a weapon; something easily accessible. Something… sheathed above his ankle. Drawing the leg up as near to his right hand as he could, he fumbled with the pant leg as he tried to reach under it and grab the knife located there. All the while, the cop could feel the strength in his left arm ebbing. The less than two-week-old injury was flaring up in protest of the rough treatment. Already weakened, the muscles, strained as they were, were beginning to give up.

He felt his hand brush over cool metal. Trailing upward, past the guard, searching fingers located the handle of the deadly ka-bar. Jerking the light-weight weapon free, he grasped it firmly and with all the force he could muster, jammed it into the wolf's shoulder. He heard metal strike bone and winced at the sound as once again his hearing acuteness rose to an inhuman level.

The only thought, as the shrieking cry tore through the night, was to keep a hold of the knife. He managed to, barely, as the animal wrenched itself free. Watching the way it moved without placing any weight on the injured limb, and noting the way in which the shoulder sagged, Peter was fairly certain the ka-bar must have broken the bone.

How, he had no idea. Luck must have been with him in his aim.

Oddly, there was no hatred in the wolf's gaze; bright intelligence, marred by pain, stared out at him.. and a strange…

_Respect? Curiosity?_

Having rolled to his feet the first moment the opportunity had presented itself, he kept the ka-bar in front of him but near his body. No stray attack was going to make him lose his only means of survival.

_You've got to be kidding me!_

It was the only thought his mind could summon when two more wolves showed up amongst the trees. He sighed wearily, circling slowly back around to place himself in front of Paul. The animals crouched for an assault; Peter could see their bodies tense, smell the adrenaline coursing through their veins.

A loud crack sounded the release of a bullet and wood splintered in a tree near one of the wolves. The duo took off running. The young Shaolin, his eyes trained on the large black wolf still nearby, spoke with forced humor.

"Welcome back, Kermit."

"Couldn't let you have all the fun, kid." The voice was light and dangerously edged, but it didn't manage to hide the embedded pain from Peter's overly sensitive hearing. Never mind that he could smell the older man's blood.

The ex-mercenary lifted the rifle, and for an instant the black wolf glared sullenly at him. A blink later, and the animal was gone.

Using whatever bond had formed between him and that wolf, Caine confirmed that the animals were truly in retreat. There was a feeling that lingered, telling him that this wasn't the end.

Almost a promise.

Shaking his head, trying to ignore the various lacerations and punctures garnered from the animal's painful clawing, he took in the form of his friend. Kermit had lowered the rifle, and Peter wasn't certain if it was because he felt the threat vanish, or because he simply couldn't hold the weight up any longer. The man looked terrible.

"What happened to you?"

"Dog bite." The joke was strained, as was the voice it was spoken with, but the priest could no longer catch the scent of pain. The foreign senses had ceased their invasion, and there remained no lasting remnant of their passing.

"Kermit…"

"Let's get Blaisdell out of here." Griffin carefully slung the strap connected to the weapon over his shoulder, rifle pressing into his sore back, and moved slowly over to the only one of the three that remained on the ground. Proficient at disregarding wounds, the dull throbbing in his leg, and agony of the deep cuts marking the flesh of his arms and abdomen, still managed to register complaint with his brain. No sign of feeling it touched his face, and it only managed to show up as a slight limp to his movements.

"We're going to have to leave some of this stuff behind," Peter indicated their packs as he cleaned his knife and re-sheathed it. Walking a few meters, he picked up the beretta and the holster that had held it. The nylon had been shredded by the wolf's claws in the initial attack. That it had been a deliberate move on the predator's part was not in doubt.

Tossing the useless holster away, he moved over to Kermit's pack and lifted it; carrying it over to where his friend knelt near Paul. Completing this, his clouded mind realized that Griffin hadn't responded.

"Kermit?" The word was little more than a whisper from a throat that felt bone dry. _Was I screaming? _He couldn't be sure, but water definitely seemed like a good idea. Even necessary.

"Yeah?" The hacker sounded remote, vague. It only lasted a second before he snapped back to the present.

"We're going to need to leave some of this here," Peter repeated the general idea, half of his own attention focused on not falling over. He'd lost some blood, but didn't think it could be enough to cause any real problems.

"Bring all the water; once the sun gets up we'll need it. We're going to need the rifles, but there's no way all of the ammunition can come with. Drop the ammo for the beretta, but keep it loaded. Sort through the rest, put it all into one pack." If he was going to say anything else, it was cut off by a flickering of Paul's eyelids. After a minute, the cool blue eyes stayed open.

"Kermit?" Hoarse sounding and whisper soft, the confusion was plain. "What're you doing 'ere?"

"Saving your ass yet again. What else?" One corner of Griffin's mouth tugged up into a trace smile.

"Wolf?"

Kermit understood the question immediately of course. Blaisdell was wondering where his attacker was.

"It ran off." Technically that was true.

"You look like hell."

Look like? Paul's eyes hadn't left his face, Kermit was sure of it. _Oh, duh. That damn mutt scratched my cheek. _

"You're not really in a position to talk." His lips quirked a bit more, relief turning it into a genuine smile.

"I bet." Suddenly he seemed confused again. "I thought I heard Peter."

"You did." Hefting one pack, the younger Caine once more approached the tree. Unwavering hazel eyes met weary blue, and there was unspoken pain and guilt respectively. But now wasn't the time for any of that, they had to get out of here.

"Why're you 'ere?" Puzzled yet again. He understood Kermit's presence, simply because his mind could accept his old friend being in this country. Peter wasn't involved in this lifestyle though; he shouldn't be there.

"Touring Myanmar, seeing the sights and communing with nature. You know, the usual vacationey type stuff." Right now, those hazel eyes were dancing. They had Paul; that was a victory in itself as far as he was concerned.

At the raised brow he received in answer, Peter smiled mischievously. "What? Captain Simms said I _had_ to take one!" That got a laugh, and not only from his foster father.

"She did. Don't think this was what she had in mind, though, Caine." Kermit said, as he began hauling Paul to his feet. They didn't have the time or energy to build any sort of stretcher, let alone haul such a device.

Peter chuckled as he fixed the pack, as comfortably as possible, to his back. He grimaced slightly when it rubbed up against a scratch on his shoulder. He hadn't even known that the cut was there, and it made him wonder how many others there were. It didn't really matter; no matter what he had to be better off than either of the other two.

"Hey, she threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't take the vacation time." He glanced down at himself, taking stock of the ragged jeans and shirt splotched with red, and shrugged with unconcealed humor. "I think really, this is her fault."

"Would love to hear you inform her of that logic." Kermit snickered, knowing that no details of this little trip would ever be told to anyone, by any of them. His smirk broadened at the low sound of Peter's grumbling.

Between the two of them, they mostly carried Paul. Blaisdell had remained predominantly silent during the exchange, minus the occasional snort of amusement, but was fully focused and _very _ready to be getting out of here.

A thought occurred to Peter.

"So... exactly how are we getting back, anyway?"

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"Okay, I feel cheated." Peter scowled at the floating object in the water before him. A _boat_. An actual engine-holding, gas fueled boat. "Where was this thing when we came here in the first place?"

"We had to be more discreet then. We're leaving now and we'll be in Bangladesh before it matters. Now stop whining and get on." Kermit, green tinted shades once more in place, was unfazed by his friend's complaining. He grinned when Peter looked toward his foster father for support.

Paul, who was already sleeping, wouldn't have been swayed by the grumbling either.

Growling low, a sound reminiscent of a wolf, Peter complied. Less than a minute later they were leaving the shore of Myanmar in their wake.

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All in all, they spent just over a day in the country.

Their time in Bangladesh was peaceful, allowing their minds and bodies to rest and come down off of their almost preternatural adrenaline created high. They were lounging in a privately owned home that belonged to one of Kermit's contacts.

Did that guy know someone in _every_ place they went?

Peter wasn't about to complain though. Stretched out comfortably on plush cushions, he wasn't even going to criticize the lack of taste the house's owner had. Ugly or not, it was most certainly comfy. Bonus points came from the barely audible snoring in the next room, testament to Paul's contented slumber.

They'd re-bandaged the wounds as best they could and Blaisdell was going to have to spend some time in the hospital once they got home, undoubtedly. But for right now, things were all right.

Griffin and Peter had even gotten their own injuries taken care of. Beyond some lacerations deep enough to be lasting and painful, and various smaller scrapes and bruises that would fade in time, Peter had gotten off very light.

Kermit, who had been likewise injured, also wore a sling as evidence of the fight. It was bandaged thickly to offer padding to the broken wrist until he could get it looked at back in the States. They couldn't risk any unnecessary attention by the government, even here.

In less than two hours, they'd be on a plane to China. Once again meeting up with Jamison before flying home. They needed certain papers to cover their trail here, to make the whole thing look like nothing more than a trip to China. With the cry of terrorism that Myanmar was making, they couldn't afford to leave their whereabouts open to formal speculation.

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"Damn Kermit, you look like shit." Jamison's smile was bright and friendly, all annoyance at their parting gone.

"So I've heard." The laconic reply held a hint of sarcasm, tinged with weariness.

"I got all the papers you asked for; passports.. the works." He handed Griffin the documents, grin widening with playful mischief. "Hope you enjoyed your stay in beautiful mainland China."

"Naturally."

"How's Blaisdell?" Jamison sobered as he spoke, casting a glance toward the awaiting jet that would return them to the U.S.

"Better than could be expected, considering..."

"What exactly did you run into back there?" There was undeniable curiosity in the tone. Ethan had seen both Griffin and Blaisdell during many missions, and nothing had ever reduced them to their current states. Kermit's partner looking as he did, that Jamison could accept. The kid probably caused the injuries through ignorance. Did something stupid.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." When Kermit didn't bother continuing, Ethan prodded him a bit. "Odder than all the things we've gone through together?"

"Oh yeah."

Figuring he wasn't going to get many answers on that front, he approached it differently. "How'd your novice do?"

Griffin simply raised a brow, his expression characteristically indecipherable; gaze hidden behind those green barriers. He nodded at Peter when the priest walked back over, a cup of something in his hand.

"Tea?"

"Yeah, good for relaxation and healing. Figured it couldn't hurt." The young Caine's mouth curled into an amused smile as one of the natives spoke to him in the local Chinese dialect. He cast a glance at Kermit. "He told me I should drink a lot more of this stuff."

The man said something more that had Peter chuckling. "Apparently he thinks you could use some too."

Through the entire exchange, Jamison's eyes had narrowed. "You speak the language."

Peter blinked innocently. "I never said I didn't."

In fact, he hadn't said anything to the mercenary about anything until now. Whatever assumptions the man had made.. well, that wasn't _his_ fault, now was it?

"Coming kid?" Kermit ignored Ethan's sputtering, and headed toward the plane.

"Yeah." Peter started to turn, when he heard Jamison mutter, "Next you'll be telling me you really are a priest."

The Shaolin just grinned at him, hazel eyes infinitely mischievous, before moving to join Kermit. The last thing he heard was Ethan yelling, "No way!" Then the door to the jet closed.

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Peter jogged up the steps leading into the precinct. Though energetic as usual, his movements were still plagued by pain and stiffness. He was in too good of a mood to care, in spite of the verbal lashing he would likely be the recipient of within a minute or two. With any luck, Kermit had already arrived and taken the edge off the whip.

How uncharitable of a thought, Peter acknowledged, considering his friend had been wounded worse.

_Oh well, he's used to it. _

Despite his enthusiasm for being back, he found himself slowing as he neared the top of the next landing. Cresting the stairs, his eyes locked on Captain Simms. Briefly he wondered if she had some odd radar.

_Has pop been teaching her tricks? _

"Detective Caine, how nice of you to join us – two days after your leave ended." The friendliness of her voice was misleading, and it didn't fool him for a minute.

He grinned in a placating maneuver. "You told me I had to take a vacation. It ran late."

Okay, not the brightest thing he'd ever said.

"Ran late?" Simms just blinked, as if she couldn't think of a reply. Then she shook her head with a sigh, taking stock of his appearance. "Detective, only you could end a forced vacation looking worse than when you started it."

"Ain't it the truth." He flashed a roguishly charming smile, knowing he'd won this round, and headed toward Kermit's office in a jubilant mood. He knew his friend was there, he'd caught his scent the moment he entered the precinct.


	6. Ch 06

Kermit eyed the man in front of him critically. Even factoring in the somewhat tousled appearance, he seemed more rested, more relaxed, even more cheerful than he had in months. For someone who considered himself to be observant, having risked life and limb based on that belief many times, it was odd that he hadn't detected the tension his friend had been weighted down with, for who knows how long, until it vanished.

No, not vanished, he realized, but it had definitely lessened.

Still, something was off about him. Something was missing. _Something_ had gone with Peter to Myanmar, but it hadn't come back. The exactness of the missing piece proved elusive whenever he attempted to put a finger on the difference.

_God, I need sleep. _Kermit knew he was nearing that key stage of sleep deprivation that could only be reached after spending so many days wired. Some strange bit of logic reasoned that maybe that's all the problem was with Peter too. If he was feeling this out of it, after two decades in the trade, his friend must be spinning. Of course, the kid seemed virtually normal as far as his energy level, mannerisms… Was it all an act? And why would it be?

"Been to see Paul yet?" He noted the uncomfortable shift and smirked inwardly. Ah, there was something more normal and the sight of it eased a little of the worry from the ex-merc.

"I haven't seen him since we checked him in. Considered heading over there before coming in to work, but Kelly brought mom over. I figured they could use some time to themselves."

_Yeah, and you don't know what you're going to say to him either, do you, kid?_ Peter would forgive, of course, it was in his nature. But it was inevitable that things had changed, might continue to change, and now it was all a matter of what those things were.

Their trip back from Myanmar hadn't resolved anything; Paul had been asleep almost the whole time. Whatever Peter had done to help Blaisdell, had served to jumpstart the man's flagging body systems and get things back on track. Probably healed some internal bleeding as well. However, beyond that, Paul still had to deal with broken bones, lacerations from the clawing; some of which had torn deeply into muscle. Never mind the cuts, bruises and all around general fatigue.

The thought caused Kermit to absently scratch the skin located just above the cast on his wrist. Yeah, like healing from those things wouldn't drive a person crazy enough. He was counting down the days until he could get the fiber cast removed, uncomfortable damn thing. Yeah, sure, he could have gotten a plaster one put on – but that would have taken more time and he didn't have the patience to deal with the doctors then.

Not that he ever did.

Of the three of them, Peter was the only one to escape without a broken bone. His wounds overall had been the least severe. Go figure.

Though thoughts and overall weariness had taken his alertness down a notch, he was immediately aware when Peter shifted again and looked toward the office door with an expression of mild expectation. A knock sounded moments later, followed by the entrance of their captain.

She held up her hand to indicate silence and both men, surprisingly perhaps, obeyed. Her tone was light yet authoritative. It brooked no argument from the targets.

"I know that the two of you have been up to something. You've been missing for days with no contact to anyone, and then you show up back in town with Paul Blaisdell – who you subsequently had to bring to the hospital for some fairly serious wounds. I have no doubt that things were much worse than that." She paused, taking in any outward signs the duo might give. There were few to work from. "I also am aware that whatever happened, you're not going to tell me about."

Peter had the distinct impression that last bit was mostly said for Kermit's benefit, there was an unusual personal level to the words. But he didn't say anything, merely allowed Simms to continue. Suddenly he felt tired. Odd how all of his energy seemed to have seeped from his body. Some distant part of his mind wondered if he'd find it pooled underneath his chair like water. With effort, he zeroed back in on Simms' voice, not entirely certain of what he missed.

"However, as the Captain of this precinct, I am ordering you both to take the remainder of the day off and get some rest. You look like hell, and frankly gentlemen, should you keel over while serving the citizens of this fair city, it won't instill much confidence in our abilities. I expect to see you both back here tomorrow, on time, and at the peak of performance." Her piece said, for now, she departed the office without giving either detective chance to protest her order. Little did she realize that neither one was feeling up to the challenge.

Kermit watched her leave, a twinkle of humor resting in eyes safely hidden behind colored lenses. When the door closed, he shifted his focus back on his friend who had begun to speak.

"Think she means it?"

"Think she'd say it if she didn't? Besides, do you want to be the one to go ask?"

Peter considered that for all of two seconds. "Nah, no sense pushing my luck."

Kermit snorted softly. "Right."

He rose, knowing that Karen would come back in here soon if they didn't make motion to leave. Grabbing the eagle from its resting place on the desk and holstering it, he quickly scanned the office for sign of anything that couldn't wait on tomorrow. Seeing no such demanding file, Griffin looked back at Peter and inwardly frowned. The kid hadn't moved.

"Going to sit there all day?" That seemed to grab his attention.

"What? Oh..." The young shaolin looked around and shook his head, chuckling at himself. "Sorry, was thinking."

"That's newsworthy. Where's Mason when there's a story like this to be had."

Peter rolled his eyes and moved to stand. "Funny."

"Well, you are her favorite detective." Kermit smirked at the pained expression the reminder caused, it widened into a smile at the posh reply.

"The price of being a hero these days."

"I'm sure." He rounded the desk and headed toward the door. Opening it, he indicated for Peter to proceed him. The younger man complied and couldn't help the grin that etched into his features when he heard the door being locked. Kermit was definitely the type to lock up everything, even in a police station.

"Ever think of installing an alarm?" The words held an air of innocence.

"Who says I haven't?" Griffin gave him a suitably secretive look before moving off toward the stairs.

A split second later and Peter was following. Neither one paid attention to the others in the room, who for good or ill were stuck for the duration of their shifts.

"Oh, you have not." He'd know, right?

Kermit merely raised a brow at the younger man before descending the stairs.

With a sigh, Peter followed. Exiting the building, he offered a wave to Griffin as the ex-merc got into his car; giving a nod in reply before heading off.

Peter stood there for a minute as a chill worked its way up his spine, registering with his brain as the feeling of being watched. Hazel eyes scanned the area: two joggers, a woman walking her dog, a couple of people getting into a car and a dark haired guy sitting on a bench reading a book.

_Let's not get too paranoid, you'll never stop getting that look from people then._

Oh, he'd seen it enough since returning. That half-hidden curiosity, wondering what was wrong with him now. Quite honestly, he was fed up with it. Every time something happened, or they perceived that it had, they watched him like he was going to fall apart. Apparently they all thought they knew something again, because every cop in the place had fixed him with varying levels of that expression.

He was fine, and dammit he was sick of having to prove it.

_Okay, now where did that come from? _

_**Naturally they're curious, kid. You disappear with Kermit for a week and both of you come back looking like the dog's favorite chew toy. Never mind that they all know Blaisdell came back with you.**_

_True._

_**Of course, they don't look at Kermit like that…**_

_So? He'd probably shoot them if they did._

_**Relax kid, I'm just saying… never mind, I'm sure you're right.**_

_Oh, shut up._

Exhaling with a shake of his head, Peter headed toward his car – figuring he must be more tired than initially suspected. First the paranoia of being watched, then that fit of temper and now he was talking to himself. Good thing the captain had given him the rest of the day off, the last thing he needed was to cause a scene at the precinct.

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Across the street, the black-haired man looked up from his book with a pleased smile resting on aristocratic features. Dressed immaculately; his bright gaze, hidden behind dark sunglasses, followed after the young detective with a calculating eagerness. Not a trace of it showed in his demeanor, however, as he rose from the bench – careful not to jar the arm that rested snugly in a sling. Moving off, he tossed the book into the trash before heading down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace.

It was shaping up into a fine day.

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Pulling into an empty space in the parking lot, he turned the ignition off and removed the key. And sat there, staring at the exceedingly familiar building. Too familiar, compliments of all the times he'd been rushed here for treatment. This time, he wasn't here for himself. Whatever deep wounds he had, nobody in this place could ever help heal.

No, that wasn't true. There was one; the person responsible for a few of those veiled injuries on his soul. They'd scarred over long ago, but never truly healed. Peter had found that if he didn't think about it, didn't allow his mind to chase the negative feelings the remembrance of those wounds caused, he could almost make himself believe everything was all right.

Funny how people liked to think they could read everything about him just by looking in his eyes.

_**They don't know the half of it, do they kid? **_That complacent voice again.

_They don't need to! _

_**Easy tiger. I agree. Never let them see your weakness, they'll tear you down with it.**_

_Shut up._

_**We are on the same side here. **_

_Oh, great. I'm developing multiple personalities. _

_**You are not. **_

_Then what are you?_

_**You.**_

Peter rolled his eyes. Sleep was sounding like a better idea with each passing moment, but he had to go see Paul. The reluctance to do so was peculiar; for the last couple of years the chance to see his foster father again had topped his wish list. Now he was practically dragging his feet when the man was just inside that building.

_Come on, get going. Maybe you'll finally get to understand why he had to leave. _He consented to that, fully relieved that it was just him thinking that. The coaxing voice was gone.

Without giving himself time to dwell on it, he got out of the stealth and headed into the hospital. He didn't bother to stop and ask for a room number, after all, he'd already been here and was fairly certain they hadn't moved Blaisdell since then. As he neared the open door, he heard voices from within. Sounded like Kermit was in there.

_So much for asking about it._

Sighing, he forcefully rid himself of all outward discomfort and annoyance, and entered the hospital room. Immediately he found himself the focus of attention and fought not to fidget under those keen blue eyes. He could feel Kermit watching him as well, but somehow it seemed relatively minor. Peter barely acknowledged Griffin's exit from the room, everything was wrapped up in that one gaze.

Then Paul spoke and with the arrival of the sound, the irritation melted like snow in the summer sun.

"Going to give your old man a hug, or just stand there?"

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"Kermit tell you about all of it?" He didn't elaborate on what 'all of it' was. He didn't need to, Blaisdell understood.

"He mentioned your dreams."

Peter nodded faintly, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the arms of the chair, unable to really think of anything to say.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all of that." They weren't just talking about the dreams anymore.

Peter wondered exactly what Kermit had told his foster father. He was suddenly very certain that the manner of his tracking had come up and he wasn't sure why that annoyed him. Blaisdell continued.

"It should never have come to that."

_Come to what? God, he's making it sound like I killed somebody. _

"Are you going to tell me what it was all about?" Pleased with how even his voice sounded, his mind lost the exasperation it had felt about Paul's statement. The moment was short lived.

"Peter, you know I can't."

_He still won't tell me! _The disbelief he was feeling was washed away by the rising frustration. "Can't? Or won't?"

"Both."

_**He's probably just trying to keep you safe. It's not like he doesn't trust you…**_

_I don't need to be protected. I'm capable of taking care of myself._

_**Of course you are. **_The silky voice agreed readily. **I**_** know that.**_

He tried hard to keep the anger from showing on his face, and the disappointment out of his voice, as he stood up. "Glad to know you trust me so much."

"Peter, this doesn't have anything to do with trust." Blaisdell's tone was soft in contrast.

"Really? Then what does it have to do with? Were you off on some top secret government mission for the last two years? Oh, I know! You were probably helping them locate and take out terrorist operations overseas."

"Peter…" there was a note of warning, but the younger man was past caring.

"You know what, you're right. None of my business." He turned and walked out, brushing aside Kermit who had headed over at the sound of raised voices.

_**You tell him, tiger! **_The voice actually sounded proud.

_Shut up._

He left the building without looking back.

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"Well, sounded like that went well." Kermit remarked mildly from the doorway after watching the retreating form vanish beyond a corner.

"He wanted me to tell him where I've been."

"Why don't you?"

"You must be kidding, Kermit. I won't get him involved in that life."

"Hate to ruin your brilliant plan there, but he already got involved in it when we went over there to save your ass. And while I don't think he's going to take up a new profession, he does have the right to know why he was over there in the first place. Think of all the times we wanted that. To know the real reason for whatever we were doing. And when they tried to keep that from us…"

"We got pissed…"

"Yes, we did. And then we did whatever we had to do to get our answers."

"You think Peter's going to try and find information on this?"

Kermit snorted. "This is Peter we're talking about here."

"I suppose I'll have to tell him, but not right now. He has enough to deal with at the moment just with my being here." Blaisdell sighed wearily, trying not to think of all the implications of that statement.

"Good, although I wouldn't wait too long if I were you." He paused. "And while you're at it, I wouldn't mind understanding a few things myself." Griffin held his old friend's gaze expectantly; his intense expression showing tolerance for nothing but truth. He was too tired for anything else, and Paul was one of the few people Kermit trusted not to lie to him. Not after all the shit they'd been through.

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With his age and the nature of the wounds he'd suffered considered, Paul Blaisdell had been kept in the hospital for just over a week. True to form, he'd hated being there. He would have protested the length of his stay if not for two important factors: he wasn't physically up to being intimidating and Annie wouldn't allow him to leave.

Oh, how many of his enemies would have laughed if they'd seen it. Sight of the slight, blind woman ruling. But then, they'd never been up against anyone like Annie Blaisdell.

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"Annie, I can walk."

"You will stay right there, Paul Blaisdell, or you'll wish you had." Annie was not above threatening her husband, especially when still angry with him. He'd explained the situation to her; for once she had demanded it. He hadn't lied either, she wouldn't have forgiven him for that. . and she would have known. She always knew.

Sighing, he didn't attempt to get out of the comfortable chair nor did he try to argue further. He recognized the situation for what it was: not just a losing battle, it was lost. Therefore, unable to offer his assistance with dinner, he contemplated the problem at hand. Aside from having told Annie, Kermit also knew the score. Like Annie, Griffin wouldn't accept anything but the truth and Blaisdell didn't even think of offering anything else. Not with them.

Peter was an entirely different matter.

He hadn't told Peter the story yet; the few times they'd spoken to each other had been pleasant enough and the selfish part of him didn't want to spoil it. If he were being honest with himself, he'd also admit to fear. The trouble was, he wasn't sure what he was afraid of. Maybe it was the idea that, even after hearing the truth, Peter wouldn't be able to understand his reasoning. That he wouldn't be able to forgive.

Blaisdell didn't think he could handle losing his son.

Peter hadn't asked for an explanation again. In fact, he hadn't said a single word about any of it. It wasn't a fit of temper. Nothing about Peter's manner indicated sulking. If anything… it was like the younger man had decided he just didn't care.


	7. Ch 07

He hated early mornings.

Oh, he knew that he should be more cordial toward the dawning of a new day; nature showing harmony as light and darkness exchanged places for awhile and in so doing, created balance. Yeah, that was all well and good, but it wasn't a good enough reason to drag his ass out of bed. He was tired, immeasurably so, and sleep had been long in coming. Floating on the edge of his consciousness, it had mockingly evaded him most of the night.

Hours had crept by as he'd stared up at the ceiling, finally closing dark eyes in a half-hearted attempt to gain whatever rest was feasible. After a long analysis of the back of his eyelids, the cop's mind finally drifted into a dreamless sleep; precisely one hour and fourteen minutes before his cell phone announced an early popularity with the world.

Three minutes later, the sound garnered attention from his brain, and hazel orbs blinked in an effort to clear away the fogginess that accompanied such an abrupt awakening. Peter considered ignoring it, he honestly did. But reason won out in the end, as it told him that no one would call him at this hour unless it was important. So he disregarded the weary haze still clouding his mind, threatening to pull him back into contented oblivion, and instead groped through the darkness for his phone.

The moment he touched the cool plastic, he knew it was going to be a bad day. Pushing past the feeling, he punched a button.

"Caine." Though attempting to ignore the deadened tone of his own voice, a distant part of him couldn't help but wonder if he was coming down with something. Injuries of the last month notwithstanding, he felt lousy and the inability to sleep wasn't helping matters any. Add to that the fact that, as far as he could figure, there wasn't even a reason for the insomnia. No visions, no bad dreams. No dreams at all as far as he could remember.

"You know, you're getting difficult to wake up partner."

"I am?" That was different, usually a pin dropping could wake him up. "I answered on the third ring."

"Yes, you did. Third ring on the fourth attempt at calling you."

"Sorry." He sounded truly contrite, never mind the fact that he'd been asleep.

"Nothing to apologize for, Peter. I'm actually sorry I had to wake you up, but night shift got shorted last night and everyone is out on calls. Your lucky number came up." There was a slightly teasing note to Skalany's voice as she spoke the last bit.

He was finding it difficult to make sense of the words. "What?"

"Are you all right, Peter?"

Oh, great, she sounded worried now. He didn't need to deal with everyone wondering what was wrong with him.. again. Absently wiping a hand over tired features, he did his best to put a little life into his reply. "Yeah, sure. Just trying to wake up. Where's the scene?"

He took mental note of the address as Mary Margaret gave it, telling her he'd meet her there in twenty minutes; giving himself enough time for a quick shower. The hot water was the only hope he had of really waking up and staying that way long enough to make it through today's shift – especially now that it was starting a good four hours early.

Setting the phone down on the bed, he headed immediately for the bathroom to turn the shower on. For a moment he closed sore eyes to the steam, hushing their complaints as the combination of heat and moisture eased the strain. Funny, he actually thought he could have fallen asleep like that. Of course, now he didn't have the luxury of time to sleep. That figured. Even if he did – that wouldn't have been how he'd have chosen to get it. Still, it was with some effort that he prodded himself into gear.

Ten minutes later, he left his apartment and headed off in the stealth toward the location given to him by Skalany. Likely she was already there, but at least he wouldn't be too much later than what he'd told her.

The drive loosened worn muscles, and managed to cleanse an oddly jaded psyche. As revitalized as he was going to get today, he brought the car to a halt at the scene and reached for the door handle. Getting out, he stretched lazily before making a pathetic attempt to close the door and then proceeded to where Mary Margaret was standing.

Absently he shoved his hands into the pockets of his light leather coat. It might have been August, but the morning was found to be uncomfortably cold. Some remote sense foretold of a storm brewing, but he couldn't see any indication of bad weather. According to the forecast, the week was supposed to be sunny and warm.

Still, what did meteorologists know?

And really, the morning had nothing to do with the icy feeling that rested deep within his bones. He hadn't truly been able to shake it for weeks, even after finding Paul. Instead, it had nestled into the marrow, intensifying as the days passed. It seemed irrelevant that there was no apparent reason. No unease. No disturbing divination. Not even a vague sense of worry.

Just that damn chill.

Hell, maybe he really was coming down with the flu or something. Wouldn't that be a fitting end to the summer.

"What have we got, partner?" Peter questioned lightly as he paused by Skalany and looked around. If his voice sounded slightly monotone, nobody seemed to notice.

"Not much, looks like a dog mauling."

Temporarily dumbstruck, he blinked in incredulity. "You called me out here at four a.m. for a dog mauling?"

"Aw, stop your whining. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you weren't glad to see me." She feigned a pout, but the gleam in her eyes lent it no credit.

Still, it caused a faint curl to form on his lips, warming features that had seemed frozen only an instant ago. "I'm always glad to see you, partner. Except maybe when I should only be viewing the inside of my eyelids. I'm odd like that."

"You're odd like a lot of things, Peter." Skalany chuckled before sobering. "If I hadn't had such a hard time waking you up, I wouldn't believe you'd been sleeping. I hate to be the one to tell you this, partner, but you aren't looking very good." She moved toward the body, Peter on her heels. "You coming down with something?"

Having already noticed the lighter attire of the others present, he relented with a sigh. "Yeah, maybe."

Skalany thought about that for a second, but given their current location and the task at hand, decided to place her focus elsewhere. "Anyway, I said it _looks_ like a dog mauling. Witness said it was a large animal but beyond that wasn't really sure what it was. Said that it went for our vic's throat and that it dragged the guy down to the ground and continued to 'rip at his throat'. Her words, not mine. She assumes it was a dog."

"Yeah, and we all know where assumptions get us," Peter muttered.

Mary Margaret tossed a grin over her shoulder as she knelt next to the prone form. "Nickie's on his way. Been a busy night."

"So I noticed... since becoming a part of it."

"Couldn't have a party without you." A low laugh rose at his brooding. It was a matter of minutes later before her usually vocal partner's silence touched her conscious awareness. Half turning, so that she could see him, her words froze in her throat. Peter was standing there, a puzzled expression resting on features that seemed at odds with those distant hazel eyes. While his gaze seemed fixed on the body, it didn't seem like he was really seeing it. So consumed with figuring out that look was she, that when Peter spoke, Skalany nearly jumped.

"Doesn't this seem weird to you? Witness says the vic was brought down without the animal letting go of his throat, right?"

"Yep."

"So why is our guy lying face down?"

Skalany sighed, straightened and walked over to where a uniformed officer stood with their 'witness'. There was nothing like hashing out a story with an eye witness a dozen times before breakfast.

He watched her briefly before dropping his gaze to the ground, searching. Moving forward, footsteps falling with unconscious precision, hazel eyes trailed over the dirt; coming to rest on a large impression. Estimating, he put it at approximately four inches wide by just over five inches long. Rather big print for a dog. Checking the immediate area, he found another track nearby – and then nothing.

Just under eight feet away, he found more prints. The animal was moving away from the body but didn't seem in a particular hurry. If it had been, it could have covered twice the distance per bound. How he knew that, he had no idea. Probably one of those random bits of trivia that had gotten lodged inside his brain.

But it meant that the animal didn't consider having been seen a threat. The witness, if indeed the woman was, hadn't provoked the creature – or simply hadn't been its intended target. Looking around the area, Peter shook his head.

Oh, yeah, he hated early mornings.

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It was gruesome. There really wasn't another word to describe the scene that lay before them. They'd seen the dark ruby liquid seeping out from under the body, hadn't missed the claw marks on the vic's arms and head. Even the tearing at the throat was noticeable from this angle. None of it compared to what they were faced with when the body was turned over. Peter saw one of the beat cops swallow hard, turning pale just before raising a hand to his mouth and bolting away. The retching noises followed almost instantaneously. He understood the reaction the second he looked down at the shredded mess.

What remained of the man's visage was ghastly; strips of flesh hanging loosely from the forehead and sunken cheeks. The eyes were open, but the right one had been punctured and removed, and what remained was little more than a dry socket with bits of tissue still sitting inside the hollow. Glistening, yet dry, tracks twisted over the leftover skin below the remnants like slug trails.

_Tears._

_**He kind of looks like a paper mâche project, doesn't he? I wonder where the rest of that eye is.**_

_Would you be quiet?_

_**Oh, like you weren't wondering the same thing.**_

_That's morbid._

_**No, tiger, that's evidence. **_The suave voice sounded calm, reasonable. Collected in a way that Peter hadn't felt in months. And it had a point.

_**Maybe it took the eye with it! **_So much for reasonable.

_Stop already!_

_**I'm just saying - makes you wonder why is all. It left one eye, the other is gone. Don't you think that's interesting?**_

_It's an animal; it's random._

_**Oh, is it? **_Sardonic amusement tinged the polished words, but the voice fell silent.

"_Go away._" Peter muttered and whirled around on his heel when a voice in the real world responded.

"Excuse me?" Griffin had one brow arched in puzzlement.

"Oh, hey Kermit. I-uh, didn't realize you were down here too."

For the time being, the ex-merc allowed the question to go unanswered. "Well, tales of the grisly nature of the scene are already circulating. Simms thought we should investigate it more closely."

"_We_ should?"

"Skalany had to cut out, since this is starting to shape up into more than a simple dog mauling. Her desk is already straining under the weight of her existing caseload. Since I'm currently available and you're fresh back from vacation, we've been elected." He paused a moment to glance back at the victim – they were finally moving the body from the scene. "I've seen a lot of things, but that definitely was among the more ghoulish of sights."

"Yeah." His throat felt parched and the word came out sounding like a croak.

"You okay?"

_**Back off, pal. He's just speaking in your native language. Don't frogs croak?**_

_Enough._

"Yeah, just was not expecting that. I've seen maulings before.. that wasn't…"

_**Natural.**_

".. natural."

Kermit nodded his concurrence, he'd caught sight of the vic's face before they had finished zipping up the body bag. "Skalany said you found prints?"

"Not of the human variety, at least not yet. Got some paw prints in the dirt, followed them as far as I could. Animals walk more softly than humans, though, and after a certain point I could only find various shoe prints. At least a dozen different treads, got pictures of them all – for all the good that'll do."

"Did the witness have any details on the dog?"

"Just that it was probably a solid color. Black, or maybe brown. Hard to tell in the limited light. Was big, but we can tell that from the prints and impressions of the teeth left in the skin. There were a few snapped bones, including the right femur.. we're talking some serious pressure. We'll know more when Nickie gets a chance to look over the body, what I'm telling you is what we know based off sight.

"The leg had chunks of flesh missing from it, the bone was protruding from what was left. That guy wasn't running anywhere."

_**Kind of the point, Ace.**_

Peter ignored the comment, instead took a moment to look over the scene as the sun began its ascent for the day; casting the dirty lot in soft light. Several officers were still collecting evidence of one variety or another, including photographic.

"It's going to be a long day." Kermit finally acknowledged.

"I need coffee," Peter offered in return. "What do you say we let them finish up while we go get some coffee. We can come back when they're done and maybe get to look around in peace."

"Oh yeah." Kermit could go for that. He'd spent the night searching for information on something for Paul, caffeine definitely had its appeal. His initial inspection of Peter's worn expression told him the kid wasn't any better off. "I'll drive."

Not feeling up for a debate, he followed Kermit over to the Corvair. Tired as his eyes were, the lime green car nearly overwhelmed his vision and he winced in response. Sinking into the passenger's side seat, he sighed gratefully at being able to allow his muscles to unwind – if only for a short time.

The drive to the café had been short enough but the pair found themselves taking more time than necessary to order their beverages. They even drank the first round there before ordering another coffee to go.

"Think they're done yet?"

"We won't know until we get back there, kid."

"Yeah." He just wasn't looking forward to that aspect of it. He didn't want to go back there, and mentally scolded himself for whining about the job. Nobody had made him stay a cop.

But it wasn't that, really. Likely it was a simple correlation made in his mind between what had happened to Paul a couple of weeks ago, and what was occurring now. He would deal with it. He'd done it before.

Having come to the necessary conclusion, he started to realize they were already back at the lot. It was deserted now, devoid of movement save for the fluttering of the crime scene tape that sectioned off a sizable portion of the area in a bright yellow border.

Without thinking, he followed Griffin with all the presence of mind of a zombie. If it weren't for the inherent sureness of foot he'd been given, he'd probably have stumbled over more than one rock. As it was, he managed to arrive safely to the zone and ducked easily under the billowing tape. He paused when his cell phone's cry broke the stillness of the scene.

"Caine." He listened silently as Nickie filled him in on what he'd thus far discovered. Some part of his mind was vying for his immediate attention as the details were garnered, but he ignored it and focused on what the coroner was saying. With a distant 'thanks' he hung up.

Kermit looked over expectantly.

"Just prelim. According to Nickie, tooth indentations on the leg indicate that the femur was broken by the animal – which leads him to believe it wasn't a dog that killed our vic."

"Why is that?"

"Simple jaw pressure. The femur is the strongest bone in the body and usually requires a good deal of force to break it. At this point, he doesn't feel that a dog could have done it."

"If it wasn't a dog, what the hell was it?"

"He said that the teeth impressions, while similar to that of a dog, are larger and the force exerted matches up more with a wilder cousin." He glanced at Kermit. "Says he thinks it's a wolf."

"A wolf? Here?"

"I know, my thoughts exactly. But Nickie's usually pretty accurate on this stuff. He admits it's all prelim at the moment. He hasn't had time to do anything else; he'll let us know when he does."

Griffin watched as once again, Peter seemed to slip into autopilot. Answering the questions without concentrating on them.

"Let me get this straight - our killer is a wolf?"

"No."

"Are you trying to say that this wolf _isn't_ a killer?"

A strange expression flickered across Peter's face as sharp hazel eyes fixated on a large crimson discoloration near the front of his shoe. His reply held an eerie resonance.

"Oh, it's a killer." In the pause that followed, the gentle breeze held its breath, bringing a peculiar stillness to the lot as it too seemed to wait for the pronouncement. "It just isn't a wolf."


	8. Ch 08

There was a faint rustle of leaves as the wind released an uncertain breath.

Kermit blinked. Calm was key here. He needed to stay calm; even while his temper threatened to emerge from its suppressed depths at the nonsensical paths of thought Peter was leading him down. Patience had kept him alive time and time again. Certainly it could keep him from strangling his friend.

Maybe.

_Breathe._

Okay. "You said it was a wolf."

"Did I?" _Did I? _The voice didn't respond.

"You did."

_No_, Peter thought, _that's not right_. "No, I didn't."

Kermit could feel an eyebrow rise of its own volition. "Yes…"

"No, I didn't. I said that Nickie thought it was a wolf."

"You don't agree?"

Peter wasn't sure. Every rational part of his mind told him that it had to be a wolf, or at least something close. He knew that their coroner was usually right about his findings, but there was the small fact that what they currently were working with was based on preliminary guesswork. Nickie had stressed that point adamantly. With the backlog of cases the young man hadn't gotten very far on their victim yet.

Understandable, Peter reasoned. There was only so much one person could do at a time and it hadn't been very long yet; even if it felt like days had passed since the ringing of his phone had wakened him this morning. Why then did he feel like they weren't doing enough? Everyone had their purpose in a pack; it was their duty to carry out that purpose well. If they couldn't do that.. well, someone else could.

The hierarchy was subject to change.

_What? _

"Peter?" Kermit's tone was carefully neutral as he watched the peculiar flickers of thought pass over the normally easy-to-read face of his friend. He didn't comment on the oddity, in spite of the disquiet it caused. Now just wasn't the time, although there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that said sooner or later time was going to run out on them. That insight also told him that with Peter, it was bound to be sooner rather than later.

He really hoped that Paul would get over his fear and talk to the kid. Oh, yeah. He knew it was fear that had prevented Blaisdell from speaking to Peter about .. well, everything. It wasn't something he'd normally confront Paul on; in the trade you learned to overcome your own fear. You learned to rely on yourself, because a lot of the time you just didn't have anyone else.

Trust was a valuable commodity; one that proved difficult to give away.

However, if Paul didn't get his ass in gear and deal with it, there wouldn't be any other option but intervention. Kermit couldn't help but feel that whatever was off about Peter was related, at least in part, to the lack of real communication between the kid and Blaisdell. The ex-mercenary didn't know what either of them was thinking if they truly thought they could just ignore the problem. Griffin believed it was Paul's job to fix it, after all it had been his choice to leave in the first place. Never mind the reasoning behind the action, the end result was the same.

As he looked at Peter, mindful of the distant, dark gaze and the closed off expression, Kermit once again couldn't help the twinge that told him time was running out.

Then again, maybe he'd just been hanging out with Shaolin for too long. Glancing at Peter once more didn't alleviate any of his concern.

The younger man was looking off into space at.. nothing; nose twitching slightly as a cool gust of wind raked over the lot.

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"Kai is here? Are you certain?"

"Y-yes." The blond haired man stammered, knowing he'd screwed up royally by not having dealt with Kai before when the betrayal was first suspected. But, then, he hadn't be sure and if he'd acted then without confirmation… well, he supposed either way he faced the possibility of being killed. That was his role in life.

"How do you know?"

"I s-saw…"

The hard blow sent him sprawling as it caught him off guard, and yet it hadn't really surprised him. He had known he'd be punished. The anger being vented on him couldn't truly shock him either.

Nothing came at a higher price than betrayal.

"You saw Kai and did not finish your task!" Fierce eyes gleamed in annoyance.

It _was_ annoyance now, though. It had seeped through the anger. That was good. He might just get out of this one with his tail intact. Nobody could read the rest of them the way he could, and that included the one in front of him. His life depended on being tuned into the most subtle of changes within each individual member of the group.

He didn't bother to reflect on his lot in life again. He'd grown used to it. He knew.

Life just generally sucked when you were the scapegoat.

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Kermit watched in growing alarm as Peter moved silently forward; a cold, calculating glitter to his hazel gaze. There was a grace and fluidity to each movement that went beyond what he'd observed in another human being before, even in a shaolin. It was the kind of ease and precision that was born into all creatures who stalked the world. Who relied on their stealth and senses to catch their prey; to survive.

Seeing that in a human went beyond eerie.

Okay, he was disturbed. It was all right to admit that, at least to himself. Continuing to observe Peter, who had stopped for a moment and was now standing entirely motionless, Kermit began to think about Myanmar. The uncharacteristic silence of his friend. The stillness. The method of tracking Blaisdell. The way it had seemed as though Peter was testing the air for a scent.

Much like he was doing now, really, some remote part of Griffin's mind informed him as another gust of wind moved through the lot. The small particles it left hanging in the air began to settle immediately, coating his jacket in a thin layer of grime. Absently one hand flicked against a black sleeve, even as his mind disregarded it as irrelevant and tracked movement instead.

Peter had walked away a short distance and now rested in a stable crouch position, fingers lightly brushing over something on the ground. The sun crested the building at the far end of the lot at that instant, and the object in the dirt winked golden as the warming rays of light hit it.

Part of the young Shaolin's mind, operating on that foreign level, bid him to remember another time. Another place. The shimmer of gold in the darkness. But the voice remained silent, and the thought slipped beyond reach as he looked back down at the rich metal pendant glimmering contently.

Sole bearer of a secret.

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Nickie Elder was intrigued in the morbidly fascinated way in which only a practitioner of his art could be. He had been looking over the body from the mauling; a body he'd heard about long before he had gotten to see it for himself. What others had said, however, hadn't prepared him for the sight he was greeted with.

As a coroner, he'd seen so many barbaric and grisly things. Murder in all its 31 flavors. Or was that ice cream?

Well, whatever. He'd seen a lot. But this ..

Maulings weren't new, in fact it was an old story. Some dog got out of a fenced yard and attacked the neighbor's kid; page one news. Or rabies. There was always rabies. He didn't think rabies was involved though. Not that he was a detective by any means, but he had dealt with the virus before. One instance always stood out in his mind, when he thought about the dreaded disease.

A man who had, presumably, suffered a drug overdose turned up on the table for a routine autopsy. The doctors, that had tried to treat the man, never suspected anything but the massive amount of cocaine in his system, and the consequential brain hemorrhaging, to be the cause-of-death. They'd had no reason to search either, the explanation seemed obvious. So when Nickie's results came in, they had all been surprised.

The symptoms resulting from the man's rabies were masked by the similarly produced symptoms resulting from his overdose.

If the family hadn't requested the autopsy in the first place, they likely would never have known that the real reason the young man had died had been a fatal bite from a bat that had roosted near his home.

Regardless, the mess on the table didn't scream 'rabies' to him. It did yell 'large canidae' pretty loudly though. That was part of the trouble he was having with the whole thing. Animals didn't do this sort of thing. Even under the influence of brain altering viral diseases.. they just didn't. Aggression, sure. He could buy that. Kill a human, certainly. The missing flesh was easily believable too. But what had been done to the face? And that eye…

Or rather, lack thereof.

Canines didn't do that sort of thing. They would go for the throat. Wolves were sometimes, if rarely, known to hamstring prey to slow them down. Actual death was usually the result of blood loss, shock, or a combination of both factors.

This guy had suffered… a lot. By all appearances, that had been the point.

His was not to reason why, however. His job was to figure out _what_ killed those poor souls that came through here, and get the results to those whose trade it was to figure out the who and why. Unfortunately, or perhaps just confusingly, the what remained consistent with his preliminary hypothesis. The width between claw marks and depth of the wounds matched. Necessary jaw pressure matched. He'd done the measuring now, and the dentition of the teeth matched. The results from the hair, and other DNA found, were back. Match.

They were looking for a _very_ large canine. More specifically, they were looking for a wolf.

Nickie couldn't help but remember what had happened when he'd first arrived on the scene early that morning. Getting out of his vehicle, he'd seen and approached Peter. His friend had been standing some distance from where the body was; half in the shadow cast by a nearby building. Nearing his friend, the lights set up around the victim only dimly illuminating his way this far from them, he'd drawn up short. Startled. As Peter's assessing gaze focused unblinkingly on the distant body, the coroner had sworn he'd seen shine back from those normally hazel eyes, making them flash green in the relative darkness of his chosen location.

He blinked, and when he looked again the reflective quality was gone. Certainly no more than the stress of all the hours the young coroner had been putting in lately. Wouldn't be the first time he'd imagined things under those conditions. But then he'd gotten within a few steps of his friend, and could have sworn he heard Peter mutter to nobody, "_The wolf is chasing the sheep."_

At that point Nickie had seen someone else standing nearby; a cop who currently was wearing a slight smirk that had puzzled Nickie. He was waving the coroner over; so instead of talking to Peter, Nickie had entered back into the light and gone over to see what the man had wanted. The odd words, which would only later prove accurate and raise questions, rang in his ears.

_The wolf is chasing the sheep._

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Kermit walked over and quickly bent down, using a pen to snare the pendant by its chain. Straightening up, the gold twinkled in the light as the sudden momentum caused the chain to twist around itself as far as it could, and the built up energy then forced it to unravel and spin in the opposite direction.

Peter hadn't taken his attention away from the piece of jewelry, and from his crouch alert eyes watched suspiciously as it continued to dance.

Kermit resisted the impulse to growl. This was getting old fast. Swallowing the sarcastic comment residing at the tip of his tongue, understanding that it would have gone unnoticed anyway, he went for the simple approach and hoped for a response.

"Caine." It wasn't even a question this time. It wasn't a statement. It was a demand for acknowledgement, and it worked. The light-brown orbs shifted; instantly losing their intense edge and looking once more like those that belonged to the kid he knew.

"Yeah…" As he stood, the easy grace present was typical Peter. No lasting trace remained of whatever that _other_ had been. The younger detective sighed, rubbing his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand before continuing. "We should probably head to the precinct. Get that checked out." He wearily waved at the pendant for emphasis. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

Griffin nodded, accepting that for now. Truth was, he wasn't certain how to confront his friend about this odd behavior. He'd meant to do it back in Myanmar, when he'd first noticed it. At the time, however, there had been more pressing matters to deal with. Then later…

Well, later had never come. Now here they were, knee deep in this case that was getting more unsettling by the minute; more complicated. Never mind that talking wasn't exactly Kermit's area to begin with.

While he had dealt with many things others couldn't fathom, he knew instinctively that whatever was going on with Peter wasn't something he could fix.

Assuming it was something needing fixing. It wasn't fair to always assume Peter would find trouble everywhere… but it was just habit to look for it by now. Besides, it was obvious that something was wrong with the kid. He'd known it since they'd come home. Hell, since before they'd come home.

He'd managed to convince himself that it would go away. It was stress. Lack of sleep. Worry. Fatigue. Tension. Or, being a shaolin who was suffering from stress, lack of sleep, worry, fatigue and tension. Who knew how they'd react? Who ever knew how Peter was going to? But the truth was… Kermit knew that it wasn't any of those things.

He had dwelt on the inescapable idea of change. Griffin had known things were going to. Well, something in Peter had changed. _Was_ changing. He just couldn't make himself believe that, whatever it was, it was for the better.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

The annoyance had passed, a little at a time. Amazing how therapeutic such action could be. Those who said that violence never helped anything clearly had no idea of what they were talking about. It had calmed him immensely. He hadn't meant to unleash his temper like that, normally he remained quite in control. But lately there'd been an urge. A craving in the pit of his stomach. A hunger that couldn't be sated no matter how many hunts he embarked on. It wouldn't be allowed free rein again. It couldn't.

That just wasn't civil.

As for the recipient of his wrath, well.. the grunt was lucky he'd been allowed to live at all. It really didn't matter. Even if the beating had killed the lowly stationed creature, it wouldn't have made that much of a difference. Another would have been found to fill the role naturally, it was simply the way they functioned. While positions were being reaffirmed, on the other hand, there would have been instability and internal strife. That wasn't acceptable. So, the meek, blond-haired thing had been granted another day. However, if the creature failed again...

There was a limit to his patience.

Yet, those were darker thoughts. They didn't belong in his mind right now. Didn't do his mood justice. Not when he was in such high spirits - emotions that had been felt and promptly absorbed by all of the others, creating a jubilant atmosphere.

The next mark had been located and the hunt would inevitably brighten the whole week.

The last one had been extremely disappointing. The man should have been a stronger target, put up a better fight. The prey had been in the prime of its life and been found fit as can be by the practiced eye of a born predator. Even that old man had been more challenging. Actually, the old man had been amazingly difficult, which was one of the only reasons he was still alive.

_I could fix that, _he reasoned. But no, that wouldn't do. Not yet. It would ruin the bigger game, and that really just wouldn't do at all. He was good at waiting. He could be infinitely patient when necessary.

The old man was hardy, no doubt about that. He'd been selected on precisely that belief, out of all the possible targets. The others had thought him crazy when he'd told them who the quarry of that hunt was to be. Some had laughed.

He'd grown angry then, and they hadn't laughed again.

He was calm now, though. And he knew that in the long run, no matter how easy these first few might be, no matter how disappointing, it was imperative that he remember they weren't the prize. They were entertainment along the way.

They were... bait.

A greater hunt had been revealed to him, a superior plan. A game, started months ago, was continuing to be played. He'd simply been too short-sighted to realize the full potential of what he'd set into motion.

It had been seen now, and his body shook in eager anticipation at the mere idea of it. Soon he would deal another hand and watch how the other played it out.

The thought bounced merrily around in his head.

_Soon_, it promised.

_Release_, it assured.

He smiled.


	9. Ch 09

_Thunk._

For the third time that morning, Jody looked up from her report at the noise. The sight that greeted her gaze was the same as both previous times, and lines creased her forehead in concern. "Peter?"

Her soft inquiry garnered no response and she resisted the impulse to get up and move closer to him. Instead, she tried again with a little more force, "Peter, wake up."

Drowsily the dark head lifted off from the desk, one hand brushing over his face in a manner that hinted at one still being more than half asleep. His lingering nearness to the land of Nod was confirmed when his other arm moved and sent the innocent and unsuspecting coffee mug sliding across the remaining inches of surface and onto the floor.

The consequential shattering had the young detective bolting upright, hazel eyes open with an almost comic alertness. It contrasted with the confusion that was written plainly across handsome features. Jerked out of its slumber, Peter's mind fought to make sense of the situation; even after seeing the array of glass shards spread out on the floor, coffee still dribbling out of the intact portion of the mug.

"It's ok, partner. I think you killed it." Jody's teasing managed to marginally break through his puzzlement, and the resulting reply came as expected.

"Funny…" Bending over in his chair, he began to pick up the broken pieces of the traumatized container. "Just had to be my favorite mug, too."

"Well, look at it this way partner, it died in the line of duty." Powell chuckled softly at the glare sent in her direction, and nodded toward the stairs and the woman now reaching their summit. She sought to make her meaning clear. "Better that it should die than you."

Meeting the irritated eyes of Simms, Peter was forced to agree.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

At that moment, irritation wasn't lurking solely in the province of their captain. Located behind a closed door, safe from any prying eyes, annoyance was reigning supreme and seeming to enjoy its sport against one Kermit Griffin.

He couldn't help but feel as though it were a breathing entity; a living enemy bent on driving him to the brink of insanity and beyond. Like a fly that you just can't seem to catch and are thus forced to endure the pest's incessant buzzing.

A damnable nuisance.

The fuel source for the irritant was obvious; he wasn't getting anywhere in his search. Information requested by Blaisdell eluded his grasp, staying just enough out of reach to be seen and yet remain useless. Reminded him of that time he'd been caught overseas and locked up in that deplorable prison. The drunk jailer, having passed out on some strong local brew, hadn't noticed the weapon that had fallen out of his prisoner's grip during the initial struggle to get the man into the chamber. The jailer had inadvertently kicked the blade, sending it skittering into an adjoining cell.

Stretching his arm as far as he could reach, shoulder jammed painfully against the hard metal bars, straining fingers brushed almost imperceptivity over the prize. The knife, once a beacon of hope, had proven to be a vile object worthy of curses that would have made a sailor blush.

Luckily Paul had gotten him out of there. Kermit never did manage to get that damn knife.

And nothing was more annoying than something you could feel and yet couldn't grasp. Just like that knife, the prize of information he was straining to reach was on the tip of his fingers. He could feel it.

Like that weapon, it was useless until he could grab it.

He'd found so many leads, had gotten so far, only to find himself at a dead-end. Like ether, the target just evaporated into thin air. Unlike ether, it left a loathsome reminder of its existence.

It was out there though, the information he wanted. Kermit would find it; he always did.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

"Griffin, Caine," the names were said in an ordering fashion, uttered by a very displeased Simms. She didn't wait for a reply, merely returned to her office.

Peter's head came up at the summons and he dropped his pen onto the desk before dragging himself to his feet. As he walked over to the captain's office, the door to Kermit's opened and the ex-mercenary came out. Peter was about to say something to the man when a sound had him quickly crossing back to his recently departed desk and grabbing at the shrieking object. Like he didn't have enough of a headache, damn cell phone had to try and make it worse.

"Caine." He nodded to Kermit and held up a finger to indicate it would only take a minute. Returning the nod, Griffin entered into Simms' office. Attention focused on the call from his snitch, Peter leaned against the wall.

"Hope you have good news for me Donny."

"It would grant me great pleasure to be able to say this to you, but I must confess that my tidings are not merry." Donny's voice was solemn, with a hint of underlining tension that Peter could feel through the phone.

"What do ya got?" He asked, but wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore. Unable to repress a shiver, he wrapped his free arm loosely around his abdomen in a subconscious need for a feeling of security. However unlikely.

"It has come to my attention that some rather unscrupulous businessmen have recently arrived in our fair city. It has been suggested that these new additions had a direct hand in the recent demise of one of your colleagues."

"Who?"

"This they did not say, but the unfortunate death was said to be quite horrible."

He nodded, knowing the futility of such a gesture while talking on the phone. The cold was intensifying again, clenching his lungs in its grasp and he found himself concentrating on breathing and straining to listen to the rest of what Donny had to say. Difficult as it was, he managed to get out a 'thanks, Donny' before hanging up.

He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there before he noticed Jody in front of him, saying something. Uncertain as to what she'd said, he was pretty positive that it had something to do with the paper she was holding out to him. Grabbing the offered document, his eyes locked on the first lines and the cold froze the blood in his veins.

Victim's name. . .

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Karen Simms looked at the two detectives in front of her expectantly. Part of her knew that it was unfair to ask for answers so soon, the other part of her wondered when fair had ever factored into their jobs. It wasn't fair what had happened to the victim. It wasn't fair what the family was going through. It certainly wasn't fair that the mayor was breathing down her neck, already, about something that had only occurred in the wee hours of that morning.

"Everything we found indicates an animal attack, just like the witness said," Peter spoke softly, voice sounding drained. Empty.

Griffin cast a glance at the kid before speaking up, "We did find a pendant, although there is nothing to say it has anything to do with our case." _Yeah right, and the kid was sniffing around it like that for the hell of it._ He didn't know what was up with Peter, but he did know that whatever _that_ was, worked. Griffin was under no illusions about just how they had managed to find Blaisdell.

"A pendant?" Simms' tone was mild with a subtle questioning quality to it.

"It's being checked for prints now."

"Do you think it'll help us in this investigation?"

"Possibly." _Oh, yeah. It has something to do with it, anyway._ He couldn't tell Karen that, not right now. Reasonably, she would call him on it and at the moment he didn't have any answers that would satisfy her. Hell, he didn't have any answers for himself yet.

"And what do you think, Detective Caine?" She was curious about her young detective's silence and watched closely to gauge his thoughts.

A moment of silence stretched an eternity in those few brief seconds. Peter sighed, his voice a distant murmur, "I think we've seen this before."

Simms quirked an eyebrow, unmistakably waiting for someone to expand on that. Clearly they were no longer paying attention.

Kermit's thoughts had drifted toward Myanmar, toward…

Peter rose and had his cell phone out, dialing before he stopped to think about it; protecting the pack was simply instinct. Pacing, he listed as it rang.. and rang.. worry rooted deeply, twisting uncomfortably in the region of his heart as each ring faded into echo. He was unable to help the great wash of relief that flooded over him upon hearing the familiar voice finally answer. There was distinct amusement held within it as the man replied to something his wife had said.

"Paul." In a desperate need to remain in control, he subconsciously latched onto the internal cold; that constant companion. It rose again, gladly, and dimly he was aware of something fading.

"Peter," there was a wariness that crept unbidden into the tone.

"I need you to do me a favor."

"Okay." No thought given to that one.

"I need you to stay inside, you and mom, until we get over there."

"What? Peter what's go-"

"Just trust me."

"All right."

"We're on our way." Peter flipped his phone shut and headed out of the office. Kermit, who'd managed to fill in some of the details to their captain, all without really explaining anything, followed. Noticing the cool glint that had once more taken up residence in his friend's eyes, Kermit informed Peter that he'd drive and felt a bit of relief at the nod he got in reply.

At least the kid was listening now.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

"And you think that whatever it was in Myanmar is here, after me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

It was a good, logical question .. just hard to answer when it was based on a simple feeling residing in some remote part of his gut.

"I don't..."

"Peter, you obviously have a thought on the matter."

Distantly, he heard a howl. Tricks of memory no doubt. "The game isn't over."

Peter saw the exchange of glances between Paul and Kermit, weariness didn't allow his irritation to register.

"If they're after me, why kill.." Paul trailed off, he didn't know the victim's name.

"Jasper Reynolds," Peter recited the name dully, a numbness rising.

Kermit spoke up, suspicion lighting his eyes. "Reynolds? Isn't that the name of the cop from the 96th you worked that robbery with?"

"One in the same." That damn cold, it didn't allow him to feel.

"Seems an odd target if he's after me. Why not come right here?"

"I don't know. I'm not pretending to understand this game." Frustration.

"You realize that's the second time you've referred to it as a game," Paul commented with a subtle prodding. Mercenary steeling be damned, he barely kept the surprise from registering on his face when his foster son's eyes lifted from the floor momentarily. They didn't belong to the kid he knew; the hard defiance was familiar, but the iciness lurking in a gaze usually so friendly and warm was nothing short of wrong. When the glance slid back to the floor within a heartbeat, Paul wasn't sure it'd been there at all. An old man's imagination.

Looking at his foster son once more, all he saw was weariness and it managed to creep into Peter's voice when he spoke again.

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired and making rash connections. It just seemed…"

Kermit understood; for a split second there he'd been convinced of it too. Convinced of just what, he wasn't sure. Pieces that had, a moment ago, seemed to fit together now appeared to belong to different puzzles. "It seemed very suspicious. Wolves there and now this mauling.. that may or may not have been caused by a wolf. We don't even know for certain what it was."

Peter started to protest, Kermit cut him off.

"_Nickie_ doesn't even know for certain what it is."

"No, I guess not." He'd have to talk to Nickie about that…

"I'm not sure what was going on over in Myanmar, Peter, but I do know that wolves don't behave like that on their own. Which means we are dealing with a person here, and _that_… we know how to handle." A dangerous twitch curled the edges of Kermit's lips, but it was quickly gone.

Peter looked unconvinced, but he also looked like the walking dead. It was difficult to tell much about what he was really thinking when he looked that worn out.

Paul spoke up, "Have you been sleeping at all?"

"I'm fine."

"More dreams?"

"No," Peter snapped back irritably. _Why wouldn't they just leave him the hell alone?_ Then he sighed, feeling like he was a little kid again.

"No dreams, no bad feelings. Just a little case of insomnia. It's not a big deal." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, but Peter knew that he really didn't want to deal with this now. What he wanted was to go home and sleep; to curl up under his blanket and let the world go to hell. But he had a job to get back to. Somehow, it always came back to that.

"We should get going, Kermit. Simms is going to be expecting an explanation on our behavior." Peter moved to leave, but found his foster father's hand restraining him. The grip around his wrist wasn't forceful, but there was an unyielding vibe in it. The touch didn't end there, as the other hand slid up to push back a shirt sleeve; revealing the tiger brand that had long since healed. Some things did heal, afterall.

The move surprised Peter into stillness.

Paul simply looked at the brand, stared really, for long moments. When he spoke there was a faint anger in the words. "Kermit told me you had to take them."

"Yeah." _So?_ Old news, even if he was still getting used to them himself. Not the physical scars themselves, but the choices they represented – as well as those he'd never really had. If he dwelt on that type of situation, then it was easy to feel bitter. So Peter didn't dwell. That didn't mean others wouldn't.

"You shouldn't have been forced to do it."

The tide of anger rose, tinting the world around him with red, and Peter snapped back once more. "What, I should have let my father die?"

"I didn't say that. You just shouldn't have had to do it. You shouldn't have been put in that position," Paul's tone held traces of sadness and guilt.

Ah, there it was. They weren't entirely talking about the brands anymore. Peter's voice softened as he met Blaisdell's gaze directly, "Like I said, I couldn't just let my father die."

_**They just have a habit of doing that to you, don't they?**_ the voice mused lightly.

_Yeah_.

Funny, Peter considered, he hadn't stopped to compare how similar the circumstances were – never mind just who had placed him into each. But no, that wasn't fair really – he'd chosen to try and help save both of them. That there wasn't much choice in the matter was irrelevant. It wasn't in Peter's nature to watch others do the work.

A small smile touched Paul's face, though a strange grief remained. He harbored no doubts that the guilt would linger, though he'd had no part in Peter's having gone to Myanmar. At least, no conscious part. If he'd had a choice in it, he'd have died before dragging the kid into that. Yet, he couldn't change what had happened and he found himself glancing around the room. Ever aware of the fact he was still holding onto Peter's wrist and not feeling in the least like letting go.

It seemed almost surreal that he, himself, was here. Sitting in his living room, with Annie nearby and his foster son… his _son_ .. right here. No longer just whispery thoughts or insubstantial memories, but solid beings. Able to be seen, heard, touched. For all the reasons he had in going, he'd never acknowledged what his family had lost because of his choice.

He hadn't even been prepared to truly face what he'd been losing.

Annie forgave him. He knew it, she always did. Her irritation and quiet fury toward him would lurk, at least for a time. If he hadn't been wounded upon his return, he knew beyond a doubt that a hospital visit would still have been necessary.

His girls, they were like Annie. So like her in many ways, though they shared no blood with the woman they loved as their mother. Kelly had practically knocked him over in her exuberance, Carolyn had been calmer. Both had laid into him well enough to draw an approving smile from his wife.

And Peter…

He released the hold on the kid's wrist, and briefly the two locked gazes. A familiar, affable smile tugged at the corners of Peter's mouth and for a moment the brown eyes were clear of anything foreign or cold. He was Peter, possibly for the first time since Blaisdell had set eyes on him over there.

As much as the smile warmed his heart, he couldn't ignore the niggling thought that wormed its way into his mind when he looked at his son.

…he was still losing Peter.


	10. Ch 10

He should never have walked in the door. It was that simple. From the moment he had, every eye in the place had been on him. Some held concern, others curiosity. Then there were those few that held mockery, suspicion, even fear. And for once in his life, Peter didn't have the faintest clue as to why he'd receive such a broad range of looks from other cops.

He'd been good lately. Behaved himself. Well, if you discounted running out on their captain a few hours ago. But certainly that hadn't created this reaction. He was confused, even if the bland expression didn't convey it. As the tension in the room caused a tightening response from every voluntary muscle, he tried to disregard the impulse urging him to tuck tail and run.

Something was wrong.

_**Pure genius there, Ace. No wonder you became a detective.**_

_What's going on?_

_**How am I supposed to know?**_

_You're telling me you honestly have no idea?_

_**Well, just maybe you should be more careful about what you say where others can hear you.**_

_Huh?_

Now what in the hell was that supposed to mean?

An outside sound broke through his thoughts as Simms exited her office, gaze far more serious than the morning's indiscretion warranted. Catching sight of her two wayward detectives, she crooked a finger at them before heading back into the seclusion of her office.

Obediently, the pair moved to follow. Peter paused when a comment chased after him from an unknown source.

"Crying wolf, Peter?" Snickers touched the air.

_Huh?_

_**We really have to work on improving your vocabulary. Get going, Ace.**_

Peter complied, moving past Simms who'd remained by the entrance. Both Griffin and Caine watched as their captain prudently closed the door before crossing over to her desk and taking the seat behind it. Cool blue orbs shifted between the detectives, searching for something.

She didn't say a word.

Peter's mind raced; fingers unconsciously toyed with a loose thread in the lining of his jacket pocket as an answer for this odd behavior continued to sidestep his comprehension.

"Look, Captain, about our leaving…" he began his attempt to soothe ruffled feathers, trailing off as Simms raised a hand minutely for quiet.

"Gentlemen, it appears our victim has been identified," her eyes didn't leave those of the younger cop.

"Reynolds."

A brow arched in surprise. "I didn't think we had that information until after the two of you had left."

"Jody showed me the report just before Kermit and I came in here earlier. Knew it was a cop before that, just didn't know who."

"How did you come by that knowledge, Detective?"

"Donny," his answer was concise, level. Emotionless. He noticed the relief exhibited by Simms. "Is something wrong, Captain?"

She looked at him. Really looked. The relief melted, replaced by an irritation that rose as a result of Caine's indifference. "Of course something is wrong, Detective. One of our fellow officers has been brutally killed."

He wondered why he was suddenly starting to feel like a leper. He tried to rectify his phrasing, "That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?" The sting of her tone hadn't diminished; the words were still sharp.

He sighed wearily, shaking his head. "Never mind."

"Very well. The motivation behind my asking you both in here now is the result of a rumor that has been making its way around the precinct."

Peter blinked. _A rumor?_

_**Oh, this should be good.**_ The intonation held a trace of a smile within it.

"Everyone seems convinced that it was a wolf that attacked Officer Reynolds," she continued to watch Peter. "The reason they believe this is because apparently, Detective, you were overheard saying as much at the scene. Nickie's report arrived a few minutes ago," she indicated a document still on her fax machine, "confirming the attack to be that of a wolf. That has me intrigued as to just how you knew that at the scene already?"

_Oh, shit._

_**You can say that again, tiger. **_

"Nobody else has seen that report?" Kermit inquired casually.

"Outside of this office, only Nickie Elder knows the results for the moment; although I'm sure they will soon be common knowledge. The family hasn't even been notified of the death yet, at the mayor's request. It would seem that Judge Reynolds is in court right now, and it wasn't deemed a good idea to interrupt." Though she answered the question, Simms hadn't been sidetracked. She looked at Peter expectantly.

What was he supposed to say? 'Oh, it just reminded me of the wolves I saw over in Myanmar during my _vacation_. By the way, we're part of the 'terrorist group' that the country is claiming attacked them.' Yeah right. How in the world did Kermit and Paul do this?

Trying to explain that trip was almost as bad as the idea of trying to explain the voice he kept hearing. Or the cold that felt as if it were draining parts of him away. The way his senses seemed to occasionally go _way_ beyond what a human being was capable of, including a Shaolin.

How could he expect any of them to get it, to not think he was insane, when _he_ couldn't even be certain that he wasn't losing it? He couldn't count on them not to be afraid either; he'd sensed Kermit's apprehension a few times. Smelled the taint of fear.

Kermit was frightened. Didn't that really say it all?

When it had first happened, this foreign invasion of his senses, he'd accepted it because he'd had no choice. Paul's life was on the line. Maybe Peter had even been a little appreciative of the help they'd provided. But that gratitude was gone now; had left as he'd slowly realized that they weren't going away. They were getting stronger, taking over more often, and he couldn't control them.

No, he couldn't imagine the others being anything but afraid. Not when it was scaring the shit out of him.

"Peter is Shaolin," Kermit said in his low tones, challengingly. "He's had many insights into cases in the past. Why would anyone start second guessing him now?"

_**Score one for the frog!**_

Simms sighed softly, and for a moment the strain of the day rested clearly on her shoulders. But, she was a captain for a reason and straightening, the burden seemed to vanish. "While we know that, Detective Griffin, not everyone is so accepting or as open-minded about these things."

_Isn't that the truth. _

Ignoring the remark, the voice deliberated,_**I bet it's the commissioner. Perhaps the mayor as well. Worthless politicians. And don't turn your back on that Detective Baker. He's the one who overheard you in the first place.**_

_Overheard what? _Peter's patience had worn thin, hanging on precariously by a single strand.

_**Your stupidity.**_

The snap was almost audible, the strand broken. Peter curled his fingers, nails digging into the flesh of his palms to keep from lashing out. Very calmly, he answered the remaining few questions that Simms tossed at him. Allowing Kermit to speak when the man felt so inclined. If nothing else, at least Simms seemed satisfied. To believe in his abilities. He ought to feel grateful for that.

Ought to, but somehow he didn't.

"For the moment, the two of you will remain on the case. Please bear in mind, gentlemen, that it is bound to become very public, very soon. The death of a cop is news enough. In addition to that he was the son of a very prominent judge; we're looking at a media frenzy. Be careful of what you say from here on out."

_**Pay attention, Ace. She means you.**_

Simms' tone took on a more critical, yet almost caring, note. "Detective Caine, your shift ends shortly anyway, I suggest you call it a day." She glanced at Kermit, and some unspoken communication must have passed between them. "Detective Griffin, you should as well. Both of you have had a very long day, and the pressure is on to cut down on overtime hours." Karen didn't really care about the overtime. What she did care about was the young man in front of her, sitting motionless. Blankly.

As an after thought, "Officers from the 96th will be informing the family shortly. Undoubtedly the press will learn soon thereafter. Be prepared."

Vacant eyes met hers, and Simms repressed the urge to shudder. Instead she indicated that the meeting was over, and they could depart.

Yeah, right. Peter was already gone. She could only hope it was something sleep could cure.

She wondered when life had decided to become so complicated. It came with caring, she supposed. For all that she could seem cool and detached, there was little doubt that Karen Simms cared a great deal about those with whom she so closely worked.

Some, a little too much.

Of course, complication just seemed to follow Peter Caine around. It had since she'd met him, oh so colorfully, those few years ago. She honestly hadn't thought the sarcastic, incorrigible, young man would survive long under her command. Karen had assumed that, because Peter was the foster son of Blaisdell, the previous captain had cut the detective a great deal of slack. Maybe he had. But what she hadn't counted on, and had soon come to realize, was that Caine was a damn good cop.

He had a subtle appeal, some boyish charm that drew most people to him. Something that had made a lot of people who'd lost the ability to trust, trust him. Probably without ever understanding why themselves. Perhaps it had something to do with his being Shaolin. Kwai Chang Caine and the Ancient both possessed the ability, although in them it was different. Karen wasn't certain just how, she only knew that it was.

That was another quirk she'd had to get used to, obviously. The strange concepts and situations that came along as a result of having a Shaolin Cop in her precinct. Cases that had to be _adjusted_ slightly in the details because of supernatural involvement in the way the events had truly transpired. In the beginning, she had resisted. Unable to wholly accept the things that occurred around her. It had been a simple, all to common, natural human reaction.

Fear of the unknown.

Once she'd been kidnapped and sent back to 1987, meeting the boy who would grow up to be her best homicide detective, there was no denying the truth of any of it anymore. Possibly she would have continued to harbor silent doubts if not for that one incident. Knowing didn't make dealing with it any easier. She courted a dangerous line, acting as something of a liaison between _the truth_ and the truth that the higher ups got to know.

Having had experience in the area of the mystical, her instincts were telling her that she was about to acquire more. It had been too quiet on that front lately, it figured. Just as did the fact that Peter was involved. His actions reminded her of the time he'd been under outside influence, in a way.

Trying to remain an objective observer in this was hard, and concern was overshadowing reason.

She wondered, not for the first time, just when Kwai Chang was supposed to return. Maybe she should talk to the Ancient. Or maybe the stress of the day was simply getting to her; she did have to call the mayor again.

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Having left the department without bothering to pick up anything from his desk, unwilling to deal with any more snide remarks, Peter drove home in complete silence. Part of his mind unerringly tracked the movement of the traffic and people around him, for all that he wasn't really paying attention to any of it. The other part was gnawing relentlessly on a new bone.

He knew he should probably feel bad for his relief at not being the one to break the news to the family, but there were other officers - those from Reynolds own precinct, who had been closer to the man. Even if Peter and Jasper had gotten to be pretty good friends while working on the joint assignment; had even hung out a few times after the case was over.

But what did that amount to, really, in the grand scheme of things?

Besides, something in him said that it wouldn't have been fair to the family. They shouldn't have to deal with an officer, a _friend_, who couldn't even seem to work up the effort to care.

Wrapped up in that thought, he barely noticed when he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex, or when he arrived at his front door. When he'd opened it, however, he'd distantly taken notice of its slick surface. That abstract thought prompted more attention from his brain than it originally seemed to merit.

_So what? So I have to clean it off._

_**Never mind that. What do you suppose is on it that needs to be cleaned? **_The cultured tone managed to sound pleasant despite the clear derision present.

Peter was exhausted and past the ability to deal with the games that the world, and his own mind, appeared to wish to engage him in.

_I. Don't. Care. Whatever it is will wash off._

_**Will it? **_Scornful amusement sounded in his mind; gratingly melodious.

_Now what in the hell does that mean? I'm getting sick of your stupid mind games. If you have something to say, say it. _

Almost repentantly, the voice purred innocently, _**Does blood wash off so easily, Peter?**_

Looking down immediately, Peter blanched. Staining the flesh of his palms and smeared generously across most of his hands, was a thick crimson liquid. Darker points stood out vividly; four crescent marks scored each palm in glaring symbolism.

_**Do you think their blood is on your hands, Peter? **_

Sliding down the wall at his back, hands held out in front of him with the palms up, lost hazel eyes never strayed from the red; it filled his vision.

_**They wouldn't be the first, **_the voice was musing again. _**They don't even have that distinction. Does that make them nothing?**_

_Who? _Even in his own head, his voice sounded pathetic. Weak.

The sweet laughter floated soundlessly through his chaotic mind. _**Who? I guess they really do rank as nothing. At least you see that. **_

Was that pride in the tone?

_Stop it! Who are you talking about?_

_**Why, the victims of course. **_

_What victims? Whose victims?_

_**Tiger, you really have to keep up. **_Softly chiding, like an older sibling. _**Reynolds. The others. **_There was a pause, considering. _**As to whose victims they are, that could be hard to say. But you brought it here, I suppose that makes them yours after a fashion. **_

_They? Reynolds is the only one dead…_

_**So far, **_the voice finished for him. _**You know he isn't the last. You've known that from the beginning. Tell me I'm wrong.**_

Silence.

_**See, you know it's true**_, thoughtfully calculating now. _**I would even wager that the next has been chosen, maybe already taken by now. I wouldn't wait, if it were me. **_

Peter sensed a giddy excitement in that statement and his stomach recoiled. It was sickening.

_**Don't approve of it? That's rich, coming from you. Hypocrisy, Peter, is a very unattractive quality in a person. **_

_And being psychotic isn't?_

No reply, but Peter could feel the affronted air it exuded.

He sighed. _What is it?_

_**A wolf, **_succinctly the response came. Annoyed.

_Well, aren't you just a font of information. _

_**I don't know,**_ the admission was spoken softly. _**But like so many things in life, tiger, it's more than it seems. Be careful, though, we know it bites.**_

_Funny. Let me know when you plan on being useful, _with that he pushed up off the wall with his back, rising on shaky legs.

_**You should wash your hands, **_it offered helpfully. _**Maybe use some antiseptic on them; the cuts look pretty deep. That was an unwise thing to do. **_

_Yeah, no kidding. _

Rinsing off his hands, he inspected the wounds closely under the bathroom light. How could he not remember doing that? How could he not remember feeling that, when he was having to clean out bits of his own skin from under his nails?

Exhaling softly, he tried to clear his mind of questions. Attempted to focus on the mundane task of cleaning and wrapping the still bleeding gashes. That done, he exited the bathroom, almost forgetting to turn off the light as the haze descended on him in a sudden rush. Movements unsteady, eyes practically closed as he shuffled forward, he dropped down onto his bed; asleep before his head ever hit the pillow.

_**Goodnight, tiger.**_

******** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Trembling. It couldn't be helped. A single, archaic reaction to a variety of things. Cold. Pain. Pleasure. But the reason was linked to none of these, instead it was a primitive response to fear.

Of the darkness. The silence. The unknown.

Whatever it was that had abducted her. Of the monsters that lurked beyond the confines of her prison, somewhere.

A cry broke through the stillness, echoing cruelly, yet it wasn't long before the distinctly feminine screams wore down to muffled sobs. Balled tightly into a corner, furthest from the perceived location of the door, the freezing cement bit through the thin material of her windbreaker and the t-shirt beneath, sinking deeply into flesh.

Terror and tension had worn away at energy reserves until finally her body surrendered to the need for sleep. And though she hadn't wanted to fall asleep, she wanted to wake up even less. To stay, instead, within the dreams that comforted her and kept the pitiless reality at bay.

Her brain noted sound, sought to bring her back to awareness. She struggled blindly against it; hearing a door opening, she fought all the harder.

All the fight drained out of her with the first snarl.

**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****

Waking to an icy sheen of sweat encasing his form, body mimicking the shivering of the one in his dream, Peter pulled himself into a sitting position against the headboard of his bed. A hand ran absently through tangled dark locks of hair, hazel eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of a predator. Any indication of something hunting him.

There was nothing; of course there wouldn't be. He wasn't the target. Someone else held that status, and whoever she was… The thought broke off, but another voice carried clearly in the silence, seeming to resound in the shadows of the room.

_**I believe that's number two, tiger. **_


	11. Ch 11

The following days passed in a tumultuous blur. There were few guesses to go on and even less fact. No leads. At present the press was calling it a mauling: as extraordinarily rare as the behavior was for a wolf. There had been initial panic as worried parents sought to keep their children safe from this phantom threat; the public as a whole was trying to defend itself from shadows. Worry had quickly diminished as no sightings were reported, no signs of a wolf had been found. A tentative lull had descended upon the whole city.

It was a random tragedy; the media said so. The public believed.

But what neither the public nor the press was aware of: Officer Reynolds had gone missing three days before his body had been found. _Three days._ He'd been undercover, nobody had known. His lack of contact hadn't gone unnoticed, but his position had been precarious at best. Moving in too early would have caused the whole operation to fail. Two months of hard work down the drain and countless hours wasted. So they'd held back.

His funeral was that afternoon; the department sent flowers. Numerous cops would be in attendance - Jasper Reynolds had been well liked.

Three days.

It was all estimation. They could only guess based on Reynolds' last communication.

They could only guess…

But Peter knew, even the voice agreed. So what had happened between the time Reynolds had been taken and the time the witness saw him killed? She had seen him die, that was a point upon which no one debated. At the time of the initial exam, it had been believed that the victim hadn't been dead long. The final report confirmed it; the cause of death had been the animal's frenzied crushing of the trachea. The broken bones and abundant other injuries had all occurred prior to death, as evidenced by the significant blood loss that told of a still beating heart. If he'd already been dead, gravity would have provided the only blood pressure and bleeding would have been minimal, if it existed at all. His had been an extremely painful way to die.

So why hadn't she heard screams?

That there were screams Peter did not doubt. He'd heard them; they had echoed excruciatingly within the confines of his mind. At least now there was silence. Peter wasn't sure why they'd stopped, couldn't begin to pinpoint exactly when they had, but he was grateful.

Maybe the sleep had helped. The nightmare that had awakened him that night had been a solitary event. Somehow he'd even fallen back asleep after it and had slumbered peacefully in the days since. The dreams he did remember upon waking had been agreeable, if a little unusual.

For all that he cursed the cold lately, in his dreams he'd been glad to leave the warmth for it - the sand for the snow. His family had been there, and although, oddly, he shouldn't have been – there he was.

Yet, ever when he awoke to the chill, he continued to curse it.

_The dream. _The one he'd had that night was another thing he couldn't figure out. Clearly, if his dreams meant anything, there was to have been another victim. Peter had believed she'd already been taken, yet there was nothing. No reported mauling. Zilch.

Had he been wrong?

Awakening, guilty for the pleasant sleep obtained, he'd been nearly panicked by the prospect of the new victim – he'd even told Kermit everything he could remember of her.

_Had he been wrong?_

And if so, how many things did he think he knew_,_ that were wrong? What help was he to anyone if he was constantly wrapped up in dreams of things that never occurred? Ensnared by things that filled his waking mind with the feeling of truth, of urgency; possible misconceptions that tried to force action. With his thoughts so narrowed, how many details had he completely missed?

Possible suspects in cases.

Motives.

When he knew the answers, he sometimes stopped asking the questions. How many criminals might have gotten away because of that?

He'd always operated under the guidance of his instincts, so when he had begun having prophetic dreams he'd followed the intuition that had told him they were real. That they were true. He'd never stopped to really wonder what would happen if they could be wrong…

"Peter?"

Caine looked up and into the eyes of his partner; Jody offered a faint smile that didn't hide the sadness lurking. He understood.

"You ready to go?"

"Yeah," he glanced quickly over his desk before rising, pulling on the black jacket of his suit. They really had better get going; they didn't need to be late. Peter had to attend, there wasn't an option. Even if he'd managed to convince himself otherwise, there was a compulsion that drove him. Demanded obedience.

The voice had tried to reason with him, to talk him out of it. Peter wasn't sure why. It seemed to derive pleasure from his misery most of the time, the funeral seemed right up its alley. Yet, it wasn't happy. It was furious and had retreated into a sulking silence.

Alone in his mind for the moment, Peter grieved for his fallen friend. The sorrow etched itself clearly in his features, shone plainly in hazel eyes. For perhaps this reason, the depth of mourning that only now asserted itself, the headache had returned. In full force.

Following Jody down the stairs, his voice was a low monotone when he asked if she had any aspirin.

-- -- -- -

They'd arrived on time, if only barely - courtesy of the plague known as traffic. Standing unobtrusively at the back of the multitude of mourners, they'd watched. Peter continued to grieve quietly; Jody offering silent, yet unyielding, support to him. He didn't stop to wonder why she was here, simply knew there was no where else she would be. It was what friends were for, afterall. Always had been.

Curiously pensive hazel eyes scrutinized the flag laden casket; the red, white and blue cloth boldly contrasting with the primary black of the day. A light breeze played with the edges of the material in an almost whimsical fashion. The movement was at odds with reality, but the contrast served to bring about his dilemma.

It was hard to imagine that the lively man he'd known was within that irrevocable chamber, entrenched in the eternity of the transient.

A faithful follower of mortality.

For some reason, he simply couldn't equate the two. Something within his mind held back the higher knowledge that would have allowed the unification of the two seemingly separate entities. It was peculiar because he truly did understand the concept. What human above a certain age didn't? Yet the scent of death that assailed his nostrils, and its obvious source, could not be joined amicably within his brain to the idea of the alive Jasper Reynolds.

It wouldn't mesh, and it bothered him because he knew it should. He'd faced the loss of many people in his life and never had this inability, to join their life and death together, arisen. He fully got that Jasper was gone, and sincerely mourned the absence. But somehow, the flesh decaying within that box didn't matter. There was a part of him wondering what the fuss was about. Why they didn't just move on, as nature dictated for survival.

Pack members went away and their loss was endured.

Jasper was a friend; he hadn't been part of Peter's pack. A pack didn't have friends outside of itself. You either were part of it, else you were potential prey or an enemy. Jasper hadn't fit into any of those categories, and that was the problem. That was where the essence of the conundrum surfaced for him. Those feelings and thoughts weren't human reactions to death, and that left the wonder of where they came from.

There was the compelling desire to be able to put forth those questions to another person. To allow his frustrations and inner conflict to touch the air in the form of words, and to have them be heard. But that wasn't going to happen. Couldn't, really. Nobody existed with whom he could share those things.

Not if he wanted to keep them. In attempting to garner that bit of peace, he'd risk losing all of those he held dear. It was far too much of a gamble, one he wasn't willing to take - not with his family. He'd protect them though.

With a firm resolve, he promised to guard them from the dark force that lurked out there.

Tears still threatened to fall, but in the wake of his resolution they never did. Posing the odd combination of lamentation and detachment to those whose gaze might have brushed over him, Peter solemnly watched as the flag was folded properly and handed to Jasper's wife, Aileen. As the casket lowered into the enduring earth, not so much as a muscle twitched in the young priest's body.

With a solid resonance that sent loose dirt falling, a noise detectable only by the keenest of hearing, the heavy coffin settled into the bottom of the grave. The low sound seemed to greet the arrival of the man who'd died far too young.

Welcoming him home.

-- -- -- -

The late lunch that followed the service was fairly typical, but there were mild differences. In the large room that had been secured for the event, flowers that had not been present at the wake or funeral decorated tables and lined the walls. The public's show of sympathy was unable to be denied. For all that they believed it to be a random tragedy, Reynolds had been a well known and respected member of the community. As such, this gesture had been made. Though the family had requested donations to charity rather than flowers and cards, it was clear that many people felt the need to give something physical to the family themselves.

The room was awash of color.

Various mourners moved about the arrangements, reading the cards and offers of condolences much as they may have at the wake. Murmurs of acknowledgement, or recognition of prominent names, drifted through the space. It was all very normal, almost relaxing.

So when coiled tension crossed into the threshold of existence, Peter started. Bright gaze encompassed the room to locate the source of the distinct smell. He'd narrowed in on the spot when the commotion began. In his heightened alertness, he watched the arrival of Ali and in puzzlement noted the handing over of a piece of paper. What looked to be a card from one of the arrangements. Saw as shock played out, and teardrops fell along with the card that had escaped numbed fingers. The object gracefully descended to the ground as it weaved its path through the air, momentarily forgotten, as Aileen Reynolds turned and fled.

For a brief second everything was still. Then action broke out as the ingrained nature of police officers, and the curiosity of people in general, took hold. A strong voice rang out, demanding.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

Peter hadn't moved, but those hard eyes bore into him from across the room. Accusingly. He couldn't imagine what he was to have done this time, but it was obvious, from the burly man's behavior, it wasn't good. Graying hair or not, there was an edge of malice in the movement as the man, a cop from the 96th Peter's mind absently filled in, came toward him.

In his face now, close enough that Peter could detect traces of lunch from the unpleasant breath, he repeated the inquiry, "I asked if this is some kind of sick joke, Caine." He emphasized the question by flicking the card at his target.

Smooth reflexive action had him snatching the object deftly from its flight. Peter's dark eyes immediately scanned the content and he paled.

_Dear Mrs. Reynolds,_

_I wish to offer my condolences to you at your time of grief. Your husband was a brave individual, and the loss of one so young is always a tragedy for a family. If it is of any comfort to know, he was strong and died well._

_¤ Váli _

His eyes burned across it once more, as if to confirm what he knew was there. They then turned their ardent wrath upon the man before him. The cop, once more helpfully identified by his mind as Collins, instantly fell back, unable to meet the the sudden rise of fury. It wasn't the emotion, whose presenence rejected the allegation, that had prompted the retreat. It was something different, some quality of _otherness _that Collins couldn't identify but that primal instinct told him was dangerous.

Attempting to stand against it was perilous; fueling it was downright stupid.

Collins wasn't stupid, and when Peter declared that he had nothing to do with the card, he'd backed down. So had the others. Unlike some of those others, however, who might have harbored their doubts, Collins had none. He'd seen what they hadn't; the raw helplessness that was as staggering in its intensity as it was scorching in its promise for vengeance.

When Peter had gotten up and stalked out of the room, the need to hunt searing through his veins, nobody had tried to stop him. And distantly, noting the wrongness about his own uncontrolled mindset, his conscience added to the earlier resolve.

He'd keep safe those he loved, yes, from every dark soul that entered this city and threatened that security … including himself.

-- -- -- -

The anger had cooled once he'd left and the fog had begun to lift from his thoughts, leaving him baffled as to the why of his behavior. He had had every right to be annoyed, even outraged, by the unjust accusation. But where had that primeval fury come from? It had been vindictive and base, things he'd never been. Never wanted to be. And he knew with bedrock certainty, that like that, left unchecked and unfocused…he was dangerous.

The thought was unnerving. He tried to ignore it, to concentrate on the case. With a very controlled breath, he reopened the files he'd been searching through.

Peter had spent the days since the dream browsing missing persons, which was limited help at best for various reasons. He didn't know what she looked like, who she was, where she was from… her voice seemed familiar, but of course it did; it'd been in the dream. Had haunted his waking hours since.

Then there was the fact that there was a very real chance that she hadn't been reported missing yet.

Assuming she was missing. Assuming there was a second victim at all. Far too many leaps based on dreams that he had less and less faith in as time passed. But he kept looking… for whatever it was that he was searching so hard to find.

_**Baker is the one who told Collins about you; made him think that you'd have written that card. **_The _'I told you not to go' _went unsaid, but it was there all the same.

___I figured. _Weary as he was, Peter couldn't help the trace smile that touched his lips when the soft growl filled his mind, the mental vibration from the noise almost soothing.

_**Too bad that wolf doesn't take a bite out of him. Solve so many problems and nobody would care. **_

___Knock it off._

_**Oh, you don't agree? **_A soft snort of air was Peter's response, and the voice seemed to smile, _**You can't fool me. I can sense these things, you know. You wouldn't mind in the least. **_

___Just because I don't like him, doesn't mean I want to see him made into lunch._

_**An apt thought. Lunch. Of course, he'd probably give it indigestion. Serve them both right.**_

__Peter didn't fight the twitch that curled his lips into a feral smirk, though it quickly vanished when he realized Kermit was looking at him. Staring at him. He could feel the intensity of the glare, it burned; like dry ice pressed to his brain. Caine watched as the ex-merc slowly and deliberately turned, vanishing back into the privacy of his lair.

_**He's been watching you for awhile, you know, **_the tone was dispassionate now. Nothing more than a clinical observation. _**He thinks there is something wrong with you. **_

___There is something wrong with me, or you wouldn't be here._

_**Why, Peter, what a cruel thing to say. Where would you be without me?**_

___Sane?_

A sigh echoed in his head and the chiding tone was back, _**You're not insane. How many times must I tell you that?**_

___Of course, my delusion informing me that I'm mentally sound doesn't really hold a lot of credibility._

The laughter was unexpected, and Peter fought its infectious charm. It was the first time that he could remember hearing the voice express amusement in a genuine fashion, without any trace of the usual sarcasm or mockery. The sound was beautiful. _**You do have a point there, tiger.**_

__Distant commotion caused his ears to prick up, in a figurative manner, and he glanced toward the stairs as the night shift began to arrive for duty.

He shut down the files he'd had opened, more than ready to call the day done. Peter rose, languidly stretching as he did so, but when he heard fingertips brushing against a doorknob, he grabbed up his coat and moved quickly toward the staircase.

As he descended from view, the unmistakable sound of Kermit departing his office touched the young Shaolin's ears and a drawn expression rested on tired features. Lately whenever he was around Griffin, Peter got the distinct impression that the older man had something to say. To confront him on. But that was just too damn bad because Peter didn't feel like dealing with the man right now.

Outside the precinct, Baker caught his attention – or more precisely the smug look that lingered on the detective's face. Peter was glad his anger had been checked already, or he might have been sorely tempted to deck the man. As it was, he found himself fighting back laughter suddenly.

_**Are you sure we couldn't just tie a t-bone around his neck?**_

__Peter debated.


	12. Ch 12

He couldn't sleep again.

There was an odd sensation burning through his veins, a rush of adrenaline that he knew wasn't really there. His brain, however, seemed to be willing to overlook that crucial lack of genuine energy within his own body. The buzz felt real in his mind, like a psychic high.

Someone else's energy.

He hadn't tapped into anyone's life-force of course; although he was just tired enough to wish he could, and aware enough to be glad he couldn't. It didn't stop his brain from acting like the phantom adrenaline was truly present, keeping him awake long after the sun had turned in.

Standing at the window, absently drinking from the bottle of beer held in one hand, he watched the stars overhead. For all the lack of a moon, the dark skies glowed to uncanny eyes. The sight was more wondrous for the knowledge that he shouldn't be seeing it at all.

Not like this. Not with human vision. The flaming lights in the sky should be no more than mere pinpricks of faint illumination to him. But they were more, so much more, and he felt oddly comforted by that. He felt secure, like he belonged. And he knew that the feeling was a mutual attraction, because the night beckoned to him. Its whispery call bordered on seduction.

He withstood the lure on reflex alone.

_**Why do you resist?**_

He considered, _Because that's not me._

_**Who are you?**_

__It was a good question, always had been.

_I don't know. _And that was the truth, because he didn't know. He never really had; which was a frightening thought suddenly, as he faced the darkness that sought him out.

-- -- -- -

The light caress on his cheek caused his eyes to slowly open, blinking in the darkness that remained to show the early hour. The window was open, the breeze that played upon his flesh had originated from there. He'd wanted to let the fresh air in; he recalled having felt confined. Locked up in his own apartment. Absurd though, since he could leave anytime he wanted.

_**Can you?**_

_Are we really going to play 'twenty questions' again?_

_**How about one more? Are you going to answer that anytime soon?**_

___Answer wh- oh_. The phone was ringing. Had that been what had awakened him in the first place?

"Caine."

"Hey kid."

The reply had held concern, Peter had heard it clearly. But also within the tone was a suspicion, one that had arisen the moment the caller had heard the single word spoken when he'd answered the phone. Why he felt sure it hadn't been there initially, Peter wasn't certain. Something had changed in the span of those few moments, when the caller had shifted from a worried friend to the normal business exterior the rest of the world was used to seeing.

"Kermit.." Peter's gaze drifted toward the clock, the glaring red numbers of the digital face reminding him of the hour. ".. why are you calling?"

_**Well, he did want to talk to you.**_

___At 3:30 in the morning? _he shot back disbelievingly, waiting for the man on the other end of the line to respond.

"Call came in about ten minutes ago, they just found me to relay the message. There's been another mauling."

Everything ceased. Funny how the whole world could up and stop like that. How a few simple words had the power take away the ability to see, or hear, or breathe, just as surely as any physical injury could. His thoughts were racing though, in nonsensical patterns and about comparatively irrelevant things.

Kermit wasn't the type who enjoyed being ignored, however. And unlike some people, he didn't tolerate it silently. His voice was low and unnaturally calm, belying the venom in the words, "Damn it, Kid, are you going to listen to me or should I hang up and try again? Maybe I'll get to talk to the real Peter Caine then."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he'd known that Griffin suspected something was off about him, but damn if that didn't seem a bit harsh. It's not like he hadn't done his job on this, to the best of his ability.

_**Have you?**_

___And what does that mean? _he repeated almost verbatim.

The voice sighed, _**Relax, tiger. I'm on your side. **_

_"Whatever," _he bit back coldly to the voice.

"What? Look, if you're done talking to yourself you can meet me at the scene. If you're not planning on keeping your head in the game, don't waste my time," Kermit gave the address, hanging up without allowing the younger man a chance to answer back. Truth was, Griffin didn't want to hear anymore. The oddity in his friend's voice, that was growing all too familiar, the random words in conversation… _Whatever?_ Where had that come from? It could have been a filler word, sure. But this wasn't the first time Kermit had heard Peter say something misplaced like that, and the cold timbre in his voice left no room for doubt. It was the same way Peter had spoken on the scene of the first mauling, when he hadn't known anyone was around.

The game. He had just spoken those words to Peter, and recalled with clarity the first time Peter mentioned them. Since then it had popped up in several conversations, those that pertained to Myanmar but also in reference to the first mauling. _'The game isn't over.'_ That was what had been said on that morning in Paul's living room. Kermit really should have known better than to dismiss it like that, especially after everything they'd just endured.

Nevermind the odd _coincidence _of it all.

All of this time they thought they'd hunted the hunter, when in reality they were the one's being stalked. The hunter had toyed with them over there, and apparently it wasn't done playing. It had followed them home. Peter had been trying to tell them all and they hadn't listened.

Why hadn't they listened?

Now two people were dead. Two random people living random little lives. Were they really so random? And who was the game against? Paul? There was evidence to support that, after all Blaisdell had been the initial target in Myanmar. According to the information that Kermit had come across, that Paul's team had been the ones brought in was not purely chance. It had been a specific request.

Paul had asked him to check out the details of that operation, and Kermit had spent countless hours attempting to do just that. As good as he was, he'd gotten little else in return for his effort. He did know, however, that the request had likely come from the person they'd been brought in to locate in the first place: the head of the group exporting the heroin.

It really was all just a game.

Aside from that, it meant that whoever they were dealing with was extremely dangerous and well connected. That didn't explain the transformation in his friend though.

The changes over the course of the last few days had been dramatic, even if it did seem like Kermit was among the few who'd paid attention. Jody and Skalany knew something was off, but from what they'd said, they both figured it had something to do with Peter feeling guilty about Reynolds. Kermit knew better, he had the added benefit of having been present the first time that distant, wintry voice had made its appearance; devoid of all the warmth that marked his friend. Yes, he'd heard the tone before. Seen the cold impassiveness etch into flesh.

Looking back, of course, he could recall the precise moment he'd felt the difference emerge. Since then, he'd fought several rounds with himself about interfering in Paul's business with Peter. It was family business, he'd told himself, not his.

Like hell.

It was his business precisely because Peter was family. One of the few people in the world who Kermit would ever admit to as such, even to himself. And be damned if he was going to let anything destroy that. Not even Paul.

Not that he blamed Blaisdell for the why of this _other_'s origin. Grant you, they were looking for Paul at the time, but he no longer believed that the actual events had so significantly altered the young Shaolin. Nor did he believe that Paul's talking to the kid would rid Peter of the escalating hold that it had on him.

He did believe it could be beaten, though. Regrettably, Kermit knew he didn't have the ability to help on any sort of mystical level. He couldn't stop the voice that he could tell was pulling at his friend. Instincts, familiar now with such experiences, screamed that at him. He listened, but remained unable to offer aid.

No, he couldn't help with that but he could do his damnedest to bring this case to a close. Find whoever was behind it all and maybe end whatever connection there was between Peter and the unknown entity. He'd said it was human, and on some level he was sure that that was true. But it was also something else.

Peter had acquired new habits; scenting the air, for instance. It was like Peter had taken on the characteristics of the wolves they'd ended up confronting. Kermit was smart enough to realize the obvious connecting factor between the past and now was the presence of wolves.

_'Oh, it's a killer. It just isn't a wolf.'_ So well he remembered those words, uttered as the dawn had arrived. Kermit had taken those words to heart, and that had prompted his search. A few years ago, he'd have felt ridiculous for even thinking it. But times had changed, he had changed. And the idea of the wolf being the man they were looking for didn't make him blink twice. He was aware of the myths, and knew that at least one of them was soon to become proven fact.

Not that he thought werewolves were real. At least not in the Hollywood hyped-up version of the monster. Nor did he think Peter was turning into one; whatever the reason for his friend's enhanced senses, werewolf wasn't one of them. If he were honest with himself, and Kermit Griffin usually was, he would admit to thinking it was some sort of psychic connection. Peter had those abilities, what was to say the wolves didn't? And if they did, what was to say they couldn't influence others somehow?

There was always the possibility it had been a fluke too. Something the wolf hadn't counted on. Just as there was the chance that the wolf wasn't really behind the differences in Peter. Something was, but with everything going on – there were too many possibilities on what had happened. What was happening.

He needed to talk to Peter, but the kid had been on edge lately. With reason, perhaps, but it made talking to him difficult. Well, even more difficult for someone who wasn't prone to getting personal with anyone. Even family. He wasn't sure how to confront Peter on the subject, to get him to acknowledge the basis of his fear.

The kid was afraid. Who wouldn't be? With Kwai Chang Caine out of town, where was anybody's guess, that left limited places for Peter to turn. Somehow, Kermit doubted that the younger Caine would go to the Ancient. He'd wager that, instead, Peter was trying to deal with it himself. Not wanting to drag anyone into the nightmare that had become his life.

But Kermit knew all about nightmares. Knew what it was to live inside one for years, awake yet confronted with the demons of the past that held one captive in their own mind. He wasn't about to let the kid walk that path alone, not if he could do something to help him.

Who would have guessed that the promise he'd made to Blaisdell, those few years ago, would have bound him to Peter forever? Regardless of how it came about though, he wasn't about to resign his post. With all the trouble the younger man seemed capable of finding, he needed all the guardians he could get.

-- -- -- -

When Peter arrived, looking fairly refreshed and normal, Kermit almost breathed a sigh of relief. Not that he for a moment thought things were back as they were, but that couldn't be dealt with here. Not now, in front of so many witnesses. The situation had the potential to be explosive and was best left to a private venue. For now, the job.

Approaching Peter, Kermit appeared relaxed. Caine knew differently, he could smell the tension once more. But he was willing to play along, for now.

"Witness saw the whole thing, called it in as soon as she could make it to a phone. No cell, just like the last one."

"Any id on the vic?"

"No."

Peter nodded, then moved past Griffin to where the body had been. The coroner had already released the scene and the body had been hauled off. The scent of death lingered behind, saturated into the dirt and grass along with the blood. There was the presence of something else, something he couldn't quite place. Cleaner?

Twisting, he called over his shoulder to the man behind him. "Did Nickie's report say anything about any type of cleaner on the last one?"

"Not on the body. Forensics found traces of a household bleach in the clothing fibers."

"They keep it clean…" Peter murmured softly, almost to himself. He should have guessed they would. He could feel Kermit looking at him, expecting more of an answer. "Wherever they are keeping their victims for the three days. They keep it clean."

"Three days?"

Straightening, Peter nodded. "Reynolds was missing for three days when his body was found. I'd bet this victim was taken yet that morning, making today the completion of the third day."

Which just happened to be right after Reynolds' funeral. "Guy's got a sense of humor."

"Yeah," came the distant reply. Peter's nose was twitching again, ever so slightly. Moving off toward a group of trees, he scanned the ground. It didn't take long, this time, to find what he was looking for. He was about to pick it up when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. His head snapped up, testing the shifting air.

Kermit barely had time to register the change before his partner took off, silently chasing the fleeing form through the trees. It only took a moment before the darkness swallowed both, and the weak illumination of the stars didn't allow one to see much beyond the lights set up around the scene. Cursing softly, the ex-mercenary watched the treeline. He couldn't hear any noise beyond the small clearing and couldn't even begin to figure out which way they'd gone. So he gathered up the evidence that had initially seized hold of Peter's attention and waited just outside the edge of the light. The inky black cloak of night kept him invisible from prying human eyes.

Time passed, and it felt like an eternity before he heard soft chuckling. But it wasn't the mocking laughter that had him standing still rather than striding forth to meet the young priest as the man neared the circle of light, mirth filled eyes sparkling coldly.

Lips pulled away from teeth in a nasty smile, voice a low threat, "Never run from a hunter, boy. You only manage to attract their attention."

Kermit hadn't moved, but that didn't stop Peter from glancing in his direction with narrowed eyes. "You coming, Griffin?" He didn't bother to wait for a response, shoving his caught prey toward the lights.

"You want to tell me why you chased down this kid, Caine?" the neutral tones didn't hide anything from Peter. Kermit was annoyed. That caused him to snicker softly.

"He was running."

"And?"

For a moment, Peter stopped and simply looked at his friend with an eyebrow raised. The faint puzzlement asking if one truly needed more of a reason than that. Shrugging, "He was here, all over around here."

He might have said more, but one of the other officers at the scene had approached and chose that moment to try and reach for the suspect. The cop would never remember much of the next few seconds, but the next thing he would recall was a pair of fierce hazel eyes looking down at him. Although he'd later attribute it to a minor head injury, the officer swore he saw those eyes glint green.

The downed cop's partner was quickly at his friend's side. "What the hell is wrong with you, you crazy bastard! Have you lost your mind?" Glaring, he stepped forward. A challenge.

Peter flashed a wicked grin, and started forward only to find Kermit blocking his path. With a firm hand on Caine's upper arm, he turned to look at the unidentified officer. As per desire, the bland expression on Griffin's face didn't hide the dangerous quality the man held without even trying, and it had the officer stopped immediately.

"Detective Caine isn't feeling well; your partner surprised him. Take the kid in for questioning and make sure your partner gets checked out."

"Yeah, right.." the officer was still glaring, but he backed off and went to help his partner up. When the two were far enough away, Kermit turned to address Peter only to realize the man was no longer beside him. He scanned the immediate area.

"Knew I shouldn't have let go," he growled, watching as the quarry of his search got into the blue stealth and left.

-- -- -- -

He was in the dark again. Seemed to be fitting.

Leaning back, he opened a new bottle of beer, unwilling to move more than necessary. He wondered when life had gone to hell. When he'd lost control of himself. But the truth was, it didn't matter. Not really. Regardless, here he was.

Maybe the when didn't matter, but the why certainly did. If he couldn't understand why he was acting like that, he couldn't keep himself from doing it again in the future. If he continued like this, there was no doubt in his mind he'd hurt someone.

_**Maybe that's who you are now.**_

___No._

_**Are you so sure?**_ Gaining no reply, the voice went on, _**Kermit suspects, you know. Has for awhile. But he's only now beginning to realize just how dangerous you are, tiger.**_

The knock at the door kept at bay the bitter retort, settling for silence instead. It wasn't meant to last though, he was aware it wouldn't. Not with who had arrived. Funny, for a man who was usually so quiet, he sure was saying an awful lot lately.

Griffin opened the door and moved to turn the light on when a disembodied voice spoke up from the darkness.

"Leave it off, hurts my eyes. Have enough of a headache." There was a glimmer of jade shineback near one of the walls; Peter was obviously sitting on the couch.

"Supposed to be one of the symptoms of insanity, isn't it? Enhanced senses. Of course, my being crazy doesn't explain other traits I seem to have acquired." He didn't elaborate. There was no need to, not with those eyes glowing green out from the darkness.

Animal eyes.


	13. Ch 13

Sunlight streamed through the glass; the afternoon breeze playfully shoved at the curtain of the open window. Daylight registered as red through closed eyelids, even from within the burrow that his body had hollowed out from a quilt sometime during the morning hours. Grabbing the pillow that had worked its way into the tangled fray, he rested one cheek against the cool surface. The idea of going back to sleep seemed like a worthy notion.

In the instant that it took to draw that conclusion, another assessment had formed. This one disallowed completion of the first. The nightmare. He'd been out of control, unable to prevent himself from lashing out at a fellow officer. Part of his mind rationalized the whole scene: the man had been trying to take _his_ prey. Given the nature of the crime, he'd gotten off light. The mild concussion would heal, a ripped out throat would not have. Yes, he really had done the cop a favor.

The second one though… he knew that if Kermit hadn't stepped in, he'd have seriously harmed the other police officer. That man had actually challenged him, and there would have been dire consequences for that mistake. Peter couldn't have simply walked away.

_**Oh, yeah, you're really vicious tiger.**_

___I could have hurt him._

_**You did hurt him, but that's not really the issue. He'll live. The next one may not, **_the tone was coolly reprimanding. Peter was quiet, so the voice continued mercilessly, _**What will you do when it's someone you care about? Will their throats look as tempting?**_

___I wouldn't –_

_**Wouldn't you? A few weeks ago, you wouldn't have thought you'd act as you did last night, either. Give it time, you won't even recognize yourself.**_

___Why do you care?_

_**How presumptuous. I'm an observer, Peter, and that's simply an observation.**_

___Whatever._ He didn't know how to respond to that, didn't know what to do about anything. Kermit. There was another issue he didn't have a clue how to deal with. His friend knew now, or at least he was seriously beginning to understand. After last night, there could be few doubts. Peter wasn't sure if he should be relieved that someone finally knew, or afraid. Afraid because of what that knowledge could do. The threat it could pose.

_To whom?_

_**To them, Peter. To you.**_

___Who are they and why would... whatever the hell is happening to me, affect them?_

_**You just don't get it, do you, tiger? You're linked.**_

___Could you stop the games and just give me a straight answer for once?_

_**Answers are tricky things, Peter. More often than not, they're merely questions in disguise. A labyrinth of thoughts, leading nowhere, just waiting for you to get lost within the turns. **_

___And the bullshit continues…_

_**I don't know who they are, Peter. Or at least, not precisely. I can say that you are, on some level, connected to them. To their leader. It all traces back to Myanmar, tiger, but then I get the feeling you already knew that.**_

___It does seem to point that way; I'm not entirely stupid._

Soft laughter, but it sounded tired. _**No, not entirely. **_

___So why then? Why me?_

_**I don't have all the answers, kid. I don't think it was planned. It wasn't meant to happen, it just did. I think he's still reeling from the shock, even if it doesn't seem like it. **_

___Who's 'he'?_

_**I told you, I don't know. But can't you feel him? Hovering near the edge of your consciousness, like an unwanted guest.**_

__Peter snorted humorlessly. _Like you?_

_**I'm sorry you feel that way, but I assure you that I'm much more pleasant than he.**_

___So says you._

_**Forget what I say, Peter. His actions speak very clearly, or hadn't you noticed?**_

___Whatever. _Shit. He couldn't think, and the spirals of thought his mind had turned into weren't helping. He probably shouldn't have drank so much last night. Maybe a shower would help.

Grudgingly finding his way out of the twisting mess of blankets and sheets, he padded lightly to the bathroom. His footfalls effortlessly soundless; those of a creature born to hunt.

-- -- -- -

It was his day off, or at least it was supposed to have been. Needless to say, when news of the second mauling broke the city was in an uproar. The press was having a field day with the breaking story, even if the identity of the newest victim wasn't a well known officer with even better known family members. Those in the media hadn't even heard of the woman.

Danielle Caldwell.

Of course the name meant nothing to them. Part of Peter wished he could have said the same, but she'd meant so much to him for over four months. A laughably short period of time, really, but then again with the unpredictability of life he wasn't prone to calling any time span laughable. Time was precious, and those weeks spent with her had been no exception, even if it had been a long time ago.

The voice seemed to think it all came back to Peter, and the young priest was forced to agree though he couldn't truly understand why. He could try and rationalize it, a coincidence and nothing more. But there were the dreams and the new edge to his personality that hadn't been there before.

_**Wasn't it?**_

He rolled his eyes at the question, not even bothering to reply. It seemed only interested in leading him in never-ending circles and attempting to keep up was only making him dizzy from the effort. Caused his concentration to slip.

It was vital that his focus remain; bad things happened when he relaxed. People were getting hurt.

Making his way through the room he spotted Kermit sitting at his desk, office door oddly open. Their gazes locked until Peter lowered his head and continued toward his own desk. He could feel the tension from the other man, even from this distance. Tension and something else.

Griffin was dangerous. Always had been, but in light of the knowledge he now held that quality was multiplied tenfold. Knowledge that had the potential to be deadly, but not only for Peter. If what the voice said contained any truth, then Kermit's knowing anything could be costly for the ex-mercenary himself.

Would they kill Kermit for knowing? For having begun to figure out the secret?

It was only the tip of the iceberg of course, and what lay beneath the waters, hidden, was always much more threatening.

_**Something's close.**_

He felt it and tried to remain in control. He could feel his grip slipping and fought to hold on all the tighter. Problem was, as he well knew, the more tightly you held on to some things - the easier they slipped through your fingers.

-- -- -- -

The orange eyes glimmered behind dark lenses; the barriers serving to hide the animalistic fervor from the unsuspecting sheep as the man watched the stone building. Every movement was a practice in control, every casual gesture hid the growing apprehension he felt, watching people freely enter and exit the doors of the 101st precinct. His prey was in there, and for the moment he could do nothing about it. The imperceptible trembling that had overtaken eager muscles was ignored, for now. It was all just as well, the game wasn't over and though he could hardly wait for the prize, he knew that it would be all the sweeter for his present self-control. His patience would be rewarded.

This one was different than any other he'd ever hunted. Shaolin. He'd researched his quarry upon coming to this city; he'd had the time between kills and had made use of it. Still, the word meant little to him. He understood the background and skills associated with it. He knew more of his prey now, thanks to it. But still, it was minimal. It meant more, but he didn't know what. Something… mystical. Kai had once told him that mystical was simply a word used when you didn't really understand. It was true, he didn't.

Kai. They had yet to locate the traitor and he still didn't know why he'd been betrayed. For what? Ever since he'd linked with his Shaolin prey, Kai had started to act oddly. He knew that his childhood friend had latched onto the connection, couldn't prevent it. That was sometimes the nature of things when dealing with telepathy such as their people were gifted with. It wasn't always a choice and sometimes one found themselves brought along for another's ride. Kai had that unfortunate unconscious ability to do so, and it had actually kept them out of trouble on more than one occasion in their youth. What once had kept them together, now divided them.

The lines had been drawn, that much was clear.

He didn't know how Kai's links worked when they hadn't been initiated intentionally, and maybe that was the whole problem. What had Kai seen that he hadn't?

Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe the fact that his prey was at least slightly telepathic himself didn't matter. Well, no, it mattered. If it hadn't been for that, they never would have connected and he wouldn't be here now.

That had angered him. His prey's initiating contact with _his _mind. First he'd been curious, but then he got angry. The audacity of one of the sheep to be probing his thoughts without permission. Yes, he'd gotten annoyed but it had passed the more he considered it. Not just because it gave him a better game, much better than the old man. The potential was there. There was a darkness in his prey's mind, something born of pure destruction and pain. He felt it, and had realized that his target wasn't really one of the sheep. The prey was a wolf, and the cop was only now beginning to understand.

Though he suppressed the anticipation of the hunt, Bauchan Laufey couldn't keep the bounce from invading his step as he headed back to the den to choose the new piece of bait.

-- -- -- -

"Kermit."

Glancing up, Griffin took in the form of one of his oldest friends standing at the doorway. Paul Blaisdell, up and moving around with something akin to his former ease, was worried. Kermit had told him what he'd seen, what he suspected. The stuff of myths, but then so was a lot of what seemed to go on around Peter. Paul suspected that his talk with the kid was long overdue, and now there was a little voice in the back of his mind telling him that maybe it was too late. Too much of what Kermit had told him of the kid's behavior just _wasn't_ Peter, but if it wasn't Peter… just who the hell was it?

"He's out at his desk."

Blaisdell nodded, reflexively glancing toward his foster son's desk. He wasn't there. "He's not-" the words were cut off by the sudden commotion.

-- -- -- -

"Settle down." Broderick was getting fed up with telling the youth to behave. In response for his effort, the young man shot him a heated glare. There was something a little off about the eyes, but Broderick hadn't been able to figure out what. It was giving him the creeps, and that wasn't an easy thing to do. It wasn't drugs, he could spot a tweaked out kid a mile away. Besides, he'd been in holding for almost 12 hours; anything he might have been on would have faded. There had been no signs of coming down from a high, and it wouldn't have explained his unease, anyway. Tweaked out kids weren't uncommon and whatever was off about this one wasn't normal.

He wished Jody would get back from whatever important phone call had whisked her away so quickly, and finish bringing the kid back to holding. Get him the hell out of here, that gaze was unnerving. He couldn't help the feeling of the deer before a hungry cat that washed over him. Registering movement, Broderick quickly was at the young man's side applying pressure to get him to retake his seat. Then suddenly he was looking up into those hungry eyes, and all he could think was the little shit was stronger than he looked.

With quick, precise motions the suspect was attempting to deal with the sergeant as well as those who had begun to move the moment Broderick hit the floor. Dazed, the next time the sergeant was able to focus the suspect was next to him on the ground, still cuffed hands uncomfortably underneath him, and Peter Caine's knee pressed firmly against his spine.

And Peter was… growling. It was funny, or would have been if it wasn't so damn scary. The normally energetic, yet fairly laid back guy he knew was motionless and wearing an expression so feral that it wouldn't have surprised Broderick if he was planning on breaking the kid's back.

"What is going on here?" The smooth, modulated tones of their Captain seemed to break the eerie feeling that had kept everyone in place, unable to tear their gaze from the sight before them.

Picking himself up, Broderick absently dusted a hand across his shoulder before indicating the still prone former threat. "Tried to attack me. Don't know what he thought he was doing."

"Let him up, Detective," Simms ordered the unmoving priest, who complied reluctantly.

With a boneless grace Peter rose, digging his knee into the young man beneath him as he did so, eliciting a yelp of pain before jerking the offender to his feet with force enough to almost send him sprawling again due to a lack of balance.

Narrowed green eyes locked with hazel, and Broderick was suddenly reminded of watching the discovery channel; seeing two predators fighting over a chunk of meat. There were visible tremors running the length of the suspect's body as the kid abruptly averted his gaze to the floor and seemed to cringe. Like a dog cowering on its belly in complete submission.

Peter's hand remained on the youth's upper arm, fingers deeply imbedded into flesh. He didn't relinquish the grip when Simms ordered him to. Didn't even seem to hear her. When Jody made her way through the slowly dispersing crowd and approached, Caine tensed and his eyes flashed dangerously in her direction. Recognition eased handsome features, and his stance relaxed. Dropping his hand from the youth's arm, he allowed Jody to remove the suspect and bring him down to holding. The kid never looked up from the floor.

"What was that?" Simms' question was quietly spoken but firm.

Peter glanced in the direction that Jody had taken the now irrelevant suspect and shrugged. "He assaulted Broderick. I dealt with the situation."

"And you thought that was the best method of dealing with it?"

Looking directly at his captain he shrugged again, a small smirk playing on his lips. No sight of anything resembling regret or care.

"Detective, when I ask a question I expect an answer," her clipped tone showed the anger rising.

Peter arched a brow amusedly, but wisely his words were spoken without the edge of humor, "I thought I'd given one."

"Unless you plan on looking for another job, I suggest you get back to work."

Oh yeah, she was mad and he barely kept the smirk from growing into a full fledged grin as he walked away. He really didn't want to loose his job, but he was wired with adrenaline now and getting so frightfully bored with those around him. He had to accept entertainment where he could find it, even from Simms.

He didn't notice the exchange of worried looks pass between Kermit, Blaisdell and Karen as he stood near his desk, shuffling through files.

-- -- -- -

He tried not to yawn. Paul was in front of him, rambling on about 'sorry' this and 'we can help you' that. Peter didn't need help, he needed something to do. He needed to figure out who the hell was killing people who knew him. That he cared about. But his foster father just didn't seem to be getting the hint.

That angered him. Who the hell did Paul think he was anyway? For how long Peter had tried to talk to the man, tried to learn about the father who'd raised him for so many years. Tried to be part of his life and to be good enough. And now, when there was all of this other shit to deal with, _now _Blaisdell wanted to talk. Forget that.

Peter didn't want to talk anymore.

"Paul, go home."

"Peter, we have to talk about this."

"No, what I have to do is work," as he made motion to walk by, Blaisdell grabbed his wrist. Hazel eyes flashed in barely suppressed rage, narrowing as icy composure took its place.

"You're not going until we figure this out," Paul's voice was calm though the man himself was anything but, having seen a fury and darkness that he'd never have suspected existed within the man he loved as his son.

Peter knew that tone. It signified a demand for obedience; the unrelenting authority from his youth. But he didn't need approval anymore, and that was a refreshing development in his life.

"You know what? I don't need this shit. I have a job to do and I don't need your permission to do it. Last time I checked, you were no longer the captain here."

"No, but I am." Damn, he hadn't noticed Simms walk up. Oh well.

Peter flashed her a disturbing smile, "Yes, and you told me to get busy. I'm going." Striding past them, he descended the stairs without glancing back.

Simms glanced at the two remaining men by the desk before returning to her office and closing the door. Anyone else who lurked nearby had the intelligence to move as far away as they could, safe from whatever conceivable harm could come from two of the most dangerous men any of them had ever met.

Paul sighed softly; his piercing blue eyes were sad, "I think that's the first time he's scared me, Kermit."

Kermit understood. Paul wasn't talking about being afraid for Peter; the kid's foster father had been that numerous times since taking in the unpredictable youth. He'd been afraid for Peter, yes, but this was the first time he'd been scared _of _Peter.

Kermit knew the feeling.


	14. Ch 14

Paul was still reeling from the encounter with his foster son. The emotions that had flickered so quickly across the well known, yet strangely unfamiliar, features of the young man's face had settled easily into a wintry mask. Hazel eyes, usually a window into the mindset behind them, had glittered with an annoyed malice. Like a wolf who'd had its tail pulled just once too often, he'd snapped.

The comparison seemed uncomfortably appropriate. The idea of wolves looking like people… or was it people who sometimes looked like wolves? Regardless of which way one wanted to define it, part of Paul's brain continued to want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The other half, the believing half that acknowledged Kermit's nature, wanted to cry. Griffin wasn't one to exaggerate, nor was he one to jump to hasty conjectures normally. Information was his old friend's game, and the man had the ability to decipher fact from unimaginable amounts of contrary data.

Paul really didn't care what the creatures were called. Werewolves, shape-shifters. It made no difference to him. What mattered was Peter, and if one or more of these beings had altered his son, he wanted to know how. And what did that make Peter now?

Kermit had disclosed his opinions on the matter. He clearly believed that whatever transformation had occurred, or was occurring still, wasn't really on a physical level. Some of his research hinted toward a more mental aspect, a telepathic connection. So though there were physical manifestations of the change: the increased ability in his sense of smell and the reflective quality of his eyes, which alluded to increased night vision and was the sole visual tell-tale of any difference, they weren't actually caused by anything physical. They probably weren't even intentional, merely side effects of the telepathic link.

The real change that was occurring was to Peter's thought processes. Though he'd always been able to defend himself, an ability that had grown in recent years thanks to his Shoalin training, it had always been just that: defense. Now his behavior was showing clear signs of pure aggression. A predator who was slowly loosing the human rational of morality. Of right and wrong. Who was adopting the animalistic concepts of territory and prey.

And that was downright scary.

The darkness was growing in Peter, and Blaisdell didn't have to be Kwai Chang or the Ancient to feel it either. For as long as Paul had known the kid, there had been an anger lurking just beyond what one could see, caused by all the traumatic events that had transpired in his life. It hid beneath the layers of compassion, kindness and roguish charm that Peter unconsciously radiated, and usually it remained dormant. When it did boil to the surface, in typical volatile fashion, it was quickly curbed by the young man's innate sense of what was right. Few occasions truly saw the temperament that the kid had become known for by some of the unenlightened, that of a hot-headed, and therefore dangerous, man.

Peter was dangerous, but for entirely different reasons. Those reasons were subject to alterations, and were currently undergoing some. Where once the anger hadn't been allowed to gain strength, had always been pushed down into dark recesses, it was now flowing just beneath the skin. Gaining power and intent. An almost tangible feeling, the potent, electric energy that hovered in the air around him, acquiring a solitary goal that it had never before had. A lethal focus that centered around the hunt. The game.

It wasn't Peter's game. Of course it wasn't. It belonged to one of the … _others_. Whatever they were. However, it was clear, at least to those who bothered to look beyond what was directly in front of their eyes, that Peter had been brought into it. Had been demanded into it.

If those involved in the case had any doubts about who the opponent was considered to be, by the killer, they had been demolished that same day. All with the arrival of a letter.

It had actually been delivered several hours earlier than its discovery, the man who'd collected it had been side-tracked and had forgotten about it. In his defense, it hardly seemed important: just your typical white envelope with the precinct's addressed written across the center in a neat, elegantly old-fashioned scrawl. The beautiful, curvilinear script was an accolade to a dying art.

Though not a cop any longer, Paul had seen the note thanks to Kermit's casual disregard for authority and police procedure. The green-shaded man simply didn't care that it was an on-going investigation; Paul needed to know, policy be damned. Blaisdell almost wished he hadn't seen it. He'd had enough glimpses into the deranged minds of criminals without adding another dimension to it.

He could have recited the letter by heart:

_Dear Detective Caine; _

_You simply must forgive my rudeness at not properly identifying myself, but I am certain you can understand that circumstances do not allow for a more traditional introduction. I fear that this shall not be the only time that proper etiquette is not observed; for our relationship, while interesting and worthwhile, shall doubtless prove to be trying. _

_You interfered in my hunt, Detective Caine. I must admit that no one else has ever done that before and lived to speak of it. That makes you one of a kind, Detective, but then we both know that you are a truly unique individual, much like myself. The more I learn of you, the more similarities I observe between our two natures. It is because of this that I am able to understand the motivation behind your disregard for my clear claim on that prey, and am thus able to forgive the transgression. He is, afterall, a member of your pack and therefore vital to your world. _

_They rarely appreciate our efforts on their behalf, though, do they? Sometimes they must be taught one of life's more brutal lessons. There is a compassion in you that wars with this idea and I sympathize with your internal struggles. Nature is a cold, cruel mistress at times. None are safe from her teachings. _

_¤ Váli _

It had been signed just like the card at Reynolds' funeral. They still had no idea what it meant. Was it the killer's name? Unlikely.

Peter hadn't seen the letter yet. He'd left the building, presumably to work some angle of the case. Nobody had seen him since he'd walked away from Paul and Kermit earlier that day. The contents of the letter hadn't been seen by anyone other than the three who'd been in Simms' office at the time of the delayed delivery. When Griffin had shown Paul the contents, Karen had conveniently not been looking up from her desk. As far as the record was concerned, Blaisdell didn't know a thing. But in an offhand, roundabout fashion, they'd all discussed the unambiguous meanings of the letter.

Paul was obviously the 'prey' mentioned, which tied the killer directly to Myanmar.. unofficially. It had to be unofficial, because officially none of them had ever been in the country. Existing paper trails, tourist visas and the like would all quite amiably explain that while they'd been in Asia, none of them had stepped foot inside the military controlled country. Everything was clear, concise and very legit, right down to the little old priest who would swear to having seen Kermit and Peter while they were in China, having even shared a cup of tea with the young Shaolin priest.

Ethan Jamison was very good at his job. If he hadn't been, Kermit would never have employed his help. Of course, if Jamison hadn't been so good then it was likely neither Griffin nor Caine would have gotten into Myanmar, Paul would be dead and the rest of this would never have happened. So when one considered it, it really was all just a moot point.

-- -- -- -

Peter glared at that which lay before him as it reflected the pretense of serenity. Usually the pretense was enough for him, but today the rippling, ever changing surface was unable to ease his mind or heart as it normally would have done. What was it Chaung-Tse said? _'You will always find an answer in the sound of water.' _Maybe that was so, but today the shimmering liquid wasn't speaking to him.

He was annoyed, angry even. What right did they have to judge him? Where did Paul get off thinking he could still tell him what to do, as if he were some new born pup?

_**They fear you, tiger, and rightly so. You're dangerous.**_ When Peter's muscles tensed further, the voice continued in its soothing tones, _**You've always been dangerous, they simply refused to see it. Now they are forced to. But right now what frightens them more is that they can't understand. **_

_Or won't. _

_**Or won't,**__ the voice acquiesced before picking up the chiding note that was becoming familiar, even welcome. __**But it isn't as though you've given them a chance to understand. **_

_Kermit – _Peter began to protest.

_**Kermit knows very little, in the grand scheme. Only what you allowed him to know, and that which he is simply too clever to have missed. **_

_How do I explain something I don't get myself?_

_**Ah, and there is the problem. You're afraid of the unknown. **_

_Shouldn't I be? _

_**Oh, definitely. They're coming for you and you haven't a clue why. You should be terrified. **_

_So glad I have you around to talk to. Cheer a guy right up. _Peter rolled his eyes in irritation.

_**I'm not here to cheer you up. **_

_Exactly why are you here? _

_**I'm part of you Peter, I could be nowhere else. Even if I wanted to be. **_

_The more you tell me, I swear the less I understand. _

_**Yes, life is tough – isn't it? **_

_You do it intentionally. Just like everybody else in my life. _Bitterness had crept into the mental sound, combining with the annoyance.

_**I won't deny that my answers, and those of some around you, aren't a bit murky at times. But maybe the trouble doesn't solely lie in what we say. Maybe you just do not hear. **_

And there is was again, and maybe that really was it. Maybe the water hadn't stopped speaking, maybe he'd simply ceased to listen.

-- -- -- -

He'd decided to listen. And as he stood silently, ears keenly taking in the soft melody of the water, the darkness of the coming night had slowly settled around him. Warm and comforting. Soothing. Accepting.

It welcomed him, for all his imperfections and mistakes. Accepted him for who and what he was, without reservation or judgment. Wrapped him in its security, enfolding Peter within its warmth as the wind whispered the secrets of the night in his ear.

It was then that Peter Caine knew he was home.

-- -- -- -

Another noted the change, as if he too heard the call in the faint murmer of the breeze, and his heart clenched in despair.

"I must go to him."

"Kwai Chang Caine," the ancient's tone was firm, leaving no room for debate. "You must not. Young Peter must find his own way back to his path."

Caine frowned at the truth in the words, sadness lingered in his eyes. "What if he cannot?" he asked, unable to prevent himself. Knowing the answer, he feared the words.

"Then the darkness that lives within him will claim his soul."

Kwai Chang, standing on the small balcony, felt it as the night embraced Peter. That was not what worried him. What alarmed him was the moment he felt his son embrace it in return.

-- -- -- -

With no evidence left to gather, the body had been released to the family. Wasting no time, the funeral was scheduled for the following afternoon. It would be a closed casket, of course. While they could have compensated for the missing eye, there was nothing to be done for the face. The funeral director paused for a moment, making certain everything was perfect for the wake which was set to begin within the hour. As he stood at the door, he couldn't help but wonder how many more closed casket funeral ceremonies he would be called upon to do in the near future.

_-- -- -- -_

It was bound to happen. They'd known it would. The moment that someone figured out the binding thread between the victims: Peter. Secrets like that never stay secret for long.

Still, they had hoped it wouldn't have been figured out so quickly. For the time being, they could call it a coincidence. Peter did know a lot of people. If there was another victim sharing the common factor, however…

Speculation was already rising amongst the officers, at least those who didn't know Peter or didn't know him well. Detective Baker was doing whatever he could to make sure his mumblings were heard by the right people, including the commissioner. Not that there was anything to hold against Peter, not yet.

Baker was insisting that the younger Caine was behind it all. The letters were a ruse, or so he said, and he cited the crazy behavior, as of late, of their fellow police officer. Baker didn't have an explanation for the mauling aspect of the killings, though. Peter didn't even own _a dog_, let alone a wolf that every cop knew was involved.

As is too often the case, the lack of evidence didn't stop irrational suspicion from growing.

-- -- -- -

The voice didn't want him to go to the funeral, and this time Peter agreed. He hadn't known Danielle's family, and his good-bye's had already been said. He couldn't focus on the dead right now. Life was for the living, and right now he had a very alive murderer to track down. The man had had the nerve to send him a letter. Had shown the nerve to compare the two of them, as if they had anything in common. This Váli was a killer, Peter wasn't.

_**Aren't you? I thought we talked about this already. **_

_Fine. I'm not a cold-blooded killer. _

_**I'll accept that answer… for now. **_

_For now? _

_**Time changes us all, Peter. **_As though sensing the rising argument coming, the voice continued, _**Anyway, shouldn't we be trying to figure this out? If your three day theory holds up, the next one will be taken the day after tomorrow. **_

_Yeah, but it could be anyone. I was only friends with Reynolds for a few months and Danielle and I dated years ago. How am I supposed to know who he'll target this time? _

_**Haven't you had any dreams about the next one? Like you did last time? **_

_No, but then – wait, wouldn't you know if I had? Why are you asking me? _

_**Stop being difficult, Peter. People's lives are on the line here - unless you don't care… **_

_You know I do. _

_**Then focus on the relevant. **_

_Pop's back. _

An exasperated sigh echoed in his skull. _**How is that related to anything we're trying to figure out here? **_

_I felt his presence at the lake earlier. It was like I could smell him, hear him. Like he was right there by me. _

_**He wasn't, tiger. He was elsewhere, in Chinatown with the Ancient. **_

_How do you know? _

_**Where else would he have been? Trust me, that's where he was. You're just getting stronger than you used to be. It'll take adjusting to, but you'll manage. **_

_Stronger? _

_**Gods, kid. Haven't you noticed your new little quirks? I'd have thought even you perceptive enough to have picked up on them. **_

_Yeah, I get it. My sense of smell, my sight, my hearing – _

_**Your psychic sense, Peter. It's where all the others are stemming from. The human body really isn't capable of what you're becoming able to do, you do realize that, right? **_

_Well, yeah but- _

_**But what? You've questioned the origin of the ability, didn't you stop to question the how of it? Your DNA didn't change overnight, idiot. You've just tapped into something that allows you to perform on a higher level. **_

_This Váli, right? _

_**Well, not – **_

_So I need to find him to end everything. Good, a common target makes it much more simple. _

_**It's not that easy, Peter. **_

_Sure it is. _

_**No, listen tiger – **_

_Why are you trying to make this so complicated? A single hunt will take care of both problems. It can't get much simpler than that. _With a decisive nod to nobody in particular, Peter rose from the bank of the lake and headed back to his car. His footsteps were precise without thought. Each sound in the blackness around him was catalogued and referenced, but he wasn't worried. There wasn't another hunter out here this night that could stand against him, and soon his biggest problem would be solved.

_One hunt. _


	15. Ch 15

They were dead. Dead and gone, and they weren't coming back.

He couldn't change that. Nothing he did would ever make anything alright for their families, their friends. He could hear the voice of Blaisdell echoing words from the past, _'She's not a daughter anymore, Peter. Murder robs a human being of that, that dignity. That title. All she is, is a victim.'_

Fine. Not a daughter. Not an ex-love. Not a friend. Just a victim, and victims were done with. They didn't matter. Forget them.

_**Well, that was fast. **_

___You really can't be quiet, can you? _Rolling his eyes, Peter went against his better judgment and played. _What was fast?_

_**They really rank as nothing to you. The victims. **_Where once amusement, pride or derision might have been expected, now there was a lone tremor of unease in the carefully modulated velvet tones. It was marked only by a thickening of the odd accent the voice spoke with.

From the given evidence, the voice was not pleased with the newest development in Peter's attitude.

_The victim's can't help me. They can't even help themselves. The only things I've gotten from any of the three are visions of darkness. That's all they can see, all they're allowed to. I can smell cleaner, sweat, fear, adrenaline… They don't know anything. Focusing on them serves no purpose._

_**Three? I thought you told me you hadn't had any dreams about the next one.**_

___Well, you really should know, shouldn't you? After all, you __**are**__ me, _he mused._ How can I possibly keep anything from myself?_

-- -- -- -

"Stop this," one of the others spoke, caramel hued eyes glinting noticeably in the limited light of the room. The inhuman quirk didn't disturb any of those present, however, as their own gazes reflected back.

Cocking his dark head to one side, as though seriously considering the prospect, Bauchan chuckled engagingly. "No."

"What do you hope to gain by this? This is an abomination, connecting with the mind of a sheep! It becomes more like us by this link that you've not bothered to break," the olive-skinned man's voice filled with repugnance, his nose wrinkling as if the very idea were a foul odor wafting through the room.

"You call him a sheep and yet I say he is a wolf," he casually dismissed the objection.

"Your thinking it so does not make it true."

"On the contrary, since it is what _I _think that really matters and I think he is more worthy of the name than many of you here." Bauchan flashed a dazzling smile, orange gaze flickering in the candlelight. A genuinely thoughtful expression touched the harsh shadows of his face and his voice softened in response, "There is more than the connection we share that makes him like he is. Much more. I have not-" abruptly cutting himself off, he shook his head. "It is irrelevant to these discussions. As for the link, it is not I who initiated it, but rather he that did."

He wouldn't admit that he couldn't break the connection. Would never tell them that he had tried and failed.

That would be to acknowledge weakness, and that simply was unacceptable.

"It should be killed!" The man rose, approaching the target of his words with a fierce intensity marking each step.

The contemplative fog of thought in his mind cleared away in an instant, darkening eyes flashed threateningly as Bauchan dispassionately regarded the man standing before him. "You will leave him be, and I will not have this conversation again." With a note of dangerous finality entering his voice, he considered the subordinate dismissed and the matter closed.

The subordinate in question failed to take heed of the shift in mood and relentlessly pursued the point. "Since you seem incapable of doing so, we will take care of that which is a threat to us all. We cannot-"

The sentence was never to be finished as the dark form rose and wrapped one hand around the speaking man's throat and slammed the body into the wall with such force that the sheetrock gave way. Fingers pressed in on pliable flesh, biting through tissue until blood ran down the aggressive hand in streams. Frantic hands clawed at the merciless fingers, sought to break the stranglehold, but it lasted only a moment. The rival's movements became sluggish before they stopped altogether as unfocused eyes stared forward. The body finally slumped as the windpipe was crushed, and Bauchan let it drop to the ground with an ungracious thud.

Glancing distastefully at the blood marring his flesh, a frown formed. When he held out the other hand, he never bothered to look up as a servant placed the desired object within it. Assiduously attacking the liquid that shone black in the faint light, he finally looked up as though reminded of the presence of the others.

"None of you shall even consider killing Peter Caine, or you will meet the same fate as this one," the tone held a dark warning as he nudged the corpse at his feet with his shoe, not bothering to glance down.

"Why is he so important?"

Bauchan noticed they had stopped referring to the cop as 'it', and he smiled pleasantly, a friendly manner that lit orange eyes brilliantly. "You need to know nothing more than I have already told you."

"You can't honestly believe he is like us! However… unique… he may be, he is still a human."

The words remained pleasantly spoken though the expression narrowed once more, "He is human, of that there is no doubt. But he is a wolf, and I find that extremely interesting. Do you not?"

"I think Reyner was right, this Peter is a threat to us. We need to think of the security of the pack."

"What you _need _to do is consider your own security, which is very limited at the moment considering your continuous questioning of me. I have spoken my will; it would truly serve you all best to heed it."

He didn't threaten, exactly. He didn't need to.

They all knew.

At this moment in time, their alpha regarded them as disposable. It was more than a hunt, much more. And whatever made that so, also made it so that this Peter Caine wasn't expendable. At least, not right now.

For the first time for many of them, they actually wished Kai was still among them.

Tossing the towel on the dead body at his feet with an indifferent sniff, "And get this cleaned up; what would the neighbors think?"

_That you're crazy, _the servant thought sullenly as he watched the door close. Thought, but didn't say. Saying it would get him killed outright... thinking it would probably only get him disciplined.

-- -- -- -

He sighed contently as he watched sunlight glisten across the surface of the small, gently rolling waves. The early morning found him surprisingly alert, all things considered. Unable to sleep the prior day, for all of his thoughts on forgetting the victims, he hadn't quite managed to make himself ignore the idea that Danielle's funeral had occurred that day. As a result, he'd found himself back at the water's edge, before night had truly fallen, watching.

The sun rose higher in the sky now, spreading its warmth, and Peter stretched out lazily on the grass. It wouldn't be long before he had to leave, work would require his presence today. Even if there was part of him that didn't particularly care about the idea of the job itself, he did have a killer to hunt down.

That thought had him pushing up off the slightly wet grass, dew clinging absently to his skin, and heading toward his car. He need to go home first to change. The damp clothing might not bother him overly much, but if he showed up to work in the same thing he'd been wearing two days ago when he'd left, there would likely be questions. Whispers. Eyes tossing stray glances his way when their owners thought he wouldn't notice.

Like he couldn't tell. As if he didn't feel the weight of their thoughts pressing in on his mind. Poor little sheep, they really had no idea…

_Sheep?_

_**They're the animal that goes 'bahh…'**_

___Yeah, thanks. _

_**You're welcome. **_

___Why would I call – never mind. It doesn't matter._

_**It doesn't?**_

___Shut up. _Having reached his apartment building, he'd made short work of the stairs and hallway. His breathing and heart rate changed very little through the activity.

After tossing his keys on the counter, he pulled off his t-shirt and caught a flickering light out of the corner of one eye as a result. It didn't matter though, and absently discarding the shirt into a basket, he headed to the shower.

Never giving the red light on his answering machine another thought.

-- -- -- -

"Where have you been?" Kermit's voice was low, dangerously casual, and it halted Peter mid-stride out of reflex alone.

"Sorry?" Peter's faintly amused tone, combined with one arched brow, stood in contrast to the dark look that the ex-mercenary was leveling at him. He wanted to laugh, but didn't really see the point of pissing his friend off. Well, pissing him off any more than he already seemed to be, anyway.

Stalking closer, every movement under extreme control, the man's voice didn't waver in its intensity, "I asked where you've been since you left here two days ago."

"Not that it's really any of your business, Kermit, but I was under the impression that yesterday was my day off."

"So it was. Somehow that means you can't return a phone call?"

"Aww, Kermit, I didn't know you cared," Peter snorted softly as he continued toward his desk, well aware of the eyes that followed his every move.

"Cut the attitude, kid."

"You know, I'm starting to find it awfully annoying how everyone seems to think they can tell me what to do. Believe it or not, I'm quite capable of dictating my own actions without any of your help," a foreign quality entered the words. His voice seemed to lose some of its natural warmth, replaced by a light, almost musical note that left a chill in its wake. As unsettling as that was, it didn't compare to the hard edged gleam that entered the hazel eyes along with it.

"Nobody said differently."

"Whatever." Gone was the dark chill, replaced by an equally frosty indifference. As Peter scanned his desk, that too shifted rapidly into an energetic eagerness with his next words. "If the pattern holds, you realize there's going to be another body found tonight."

"I'm aware." Griffin watched the changing expressions on his friend's face with guarded apprehension. He tried to regulate his own tone and expression, which was easy enough, along with his vitals and other bodily reactions that many people didn't realize could give them away. Hell, most people didn't have to worry about such things giving them away because most people didn't have to deal with someone who could detect the most subtle of changes in heart rate and breathing.

However, Kermit Griffin wasn't most people and he was far more adept at such tasks then almost anyone. He just didn't know if that was going to be good enough.

Peter sighed then and looked over at him, and Kermit realized that it obviously wasn't enough. Even if he had managed to control all the natural reactions of his body, he didn't know how to defend against someone who could read his thoughts. And _that_, he decided, was just extremely unfair. 

Peter smirked in response.

-- -- -- -

They waited for the call they knew would come, trying to appear as if they didn't know. If the last two killings were any indication, the call wouldn't come in until after midnight. In unspoken agreement on that point, they'd gone home after their respective shifts to gain what rest they could. Another long day was headed their way, they both knew it, and Kermit had been a mercenary for far too long to allow the chance to sleep to pass by him without at least trying to ensnare it.

His attempts had worked for a few hours before he found himself waking from a dream. A nightmare, really, in which he saw his friend transform into a monster right in front of his eyes. Laughable, sure, until he realized that that was exactly what seemed to be happening albeit in a metaphoric sense. To put it like that though, it sounded melodramatic – something Kermit Griffin definitely was not. Yet, he couldn't prevent his mind from repeating it.

He'd chased that kid down, like a hound after its prey. He'd attacked the cop who'd try to take the suspect, and when the man's partner had moved to retaliate, Kermit had stepped in. He'd had to. There was no doubt in his mind that Peter would have killed the officer. The fiendish grin that had defaced the priest's normal expression spoke of no other plausible outcome.

In spite of himself, Kermit felt a faint shudder run the length of his body. He felt exactly as he had that night upon entering his friend's apartment only to be met with the calm voice of a man and the glowing green eyes of an animal. Both had belonged to the same person.

It had shocked him, that meeting. He knew it, and he knew that Peter had known it. The younger man had been only to aware of exactly what the ex-mercenary was feeling as unconsciously Kermit had reached for his gun.

_"Are you going to shoot me, Kermit?" There might have been a trace of amusement in the tone, but the eerie calm of it made that difficult to distinguish. _

_Kermit stood transfixed under the scrutiny of that gaze, mind racing even while being all too aware of the fact he was frozen in place. He knew he needed to respond, but for some reason he wasn't able to speak. _

_"It would be rude, you know. After all, it was you who broke into here." _

_It might have been a joke. Then again, it might not have. Regardless of which was intended, Kermit was certain of one thing: it wasn't Peter speaking. That wasn't surprising, although it was the clearest the foreign accent had come across in Peter's speech. _

It wasn't the voice that had left him unable to move, though. Even now, Kermit wasn't able to pinpoint exactly what it had been, something that bothered him to no end. It had taken an extreme summoning of will power to finally move his feet. More to actually speak.

_"Why would I want to shoot you, kid?"_

Peter had chuckled softly then, but it sounded almost sad. It was as if the man could think of far too many reasons that that would be a viable option. A safer alternative than letting him continue as he was.

Maybe he'd been right, at that.

Not that it changed anything. It wasn't as if he could really shoot the kid, let alone kill him. It _was _Peter, for whatever else it might be.

_Peter sighed before speaking again. "Go home, Kermit."_

_"Look, we can-"_

We can what? Griffin shook his head, he couldn't recall what he'd said next. Try as he might, he still couldn't remember any of what had followed, including the fact that at some point he'd gotten into his car and driven home. He'd awakened in his own bed with the corvair locked and in the driveway. Even his keys had been placed in their proper location.

What the hell had happened?

Never had Kermit been unable to recall a gap of time such as this. Never… without the aid of some drug or an extreme amount of alcohol. Never, without some outside help.

_Glowing green eyes. _

No, they hadn't actually glowed. They couldn't have. The light from the window had simply been reflecting off from them. Still, he hadn't been able to turn away from them. Then there was the missing bit of memory… it felt like something was lurking just beneath his conscious awareness. An epiphany just waiting to be had. But for the life of him, he just couldn't catch a firm hold of the slippery damn thing!

_Oh, forget this. _

Casting a glance at the clock, he rose. Dressing quickly, he grabbed the eagle from its resting place under his pillow and slid the weapon into its holster almost without being aware of doing so. It was far too engrained into his muscle memory to cause him to question it.

If he couldn't figure out what had happened, he knew someone that probably could. Kermit had a lot of people around that passed on information to him, and this was something he'd specifically requested to know.

So really, it wasn't surprising that he knew that Kwai Chang Caine was back in town. While his motivation in wanting to know the moment the man returned had never been help for himself, he obviously wasn't going to ignore the only possible source he had. He was tired of chasing 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. His agile mind had created a host of monstrous possibilities, he needed some certainties.

If Caine wouldn't help, maybe he'd just shoot him. Damn if both father and son couldn't be such pains in the ass at times.


	16. Ch 16

"I need your help."

The words tumbled out past lips with more than a little reservation clinging to them. It wasn't that Kermit had never asked for help before; hell, it wasn't even the first time Kwai Chang Caine had been asked for assistance. There was just something about approaching a possible last resource that always made him feel apprehensive, and, though loathe to admit it, desperate.

Unable to even tread above water anymore, it had been self-acknowledged that he was in over his head and the surface light was rapidly fading away.

Paul had obviously been aware since the beginning that something was happening with his foster son but, in spite of the information shared, the older mercenary simply hadn't seen the things that Kermit had. Couldn't know the things that Kermit did. Griffin had yet to tell him everything that he suspected about the killer or the link. Although it was a safe bet that recent events had forced Blaisdell to come to some of his own impossible conclusions.

"Yes, I know why you have come," softly the priest spoke and what might have sounded positive came across as forlorn to the ex-mercenary's ears.

He waited for clarification. For elaboration. For something that bespoke of hope or help or.. _something_. Anything. Because he really was tired of dealing with it alone, for all his isolated ways. But there was nothing in the older man's countenance that offered any of those things.

"Great, how about sharing a little insight here?" Griffin didn't bother to apologize for the gruffness of his voice or the demanding nature of his tone. He was on a mission and 'sorry' didn't even factor into it.

"I cannot."

"Can't or won't?" If it came across as slightly disbelieving, it couldn't be helped. Even after the myriad of times the action had been witnessed from the man before him, somehow he still never quite expected the priest to turn his back on his son. Maybe because it went against everything the man professed to be; then again Kermit really should know better than to take anything at face value. He did know better.

When Caine opened his mouth to reply, the sadness still lingering in suddenly ancient eyes, Kermit held up a hand to prevent the excuses sure to pour forth.

"You know what, I don't care which it is." And he really didn't, because it didn't matter.

Once again he didn't bother to allow a response, and all thoughts of shooting the elder Caine were buried by the onslaught of voices clamoring about in his skull, offering up plausible information sources or people that might be of some use. The computer expert's mind was a weird, darkly complicated but often helpful place.

Maybe Kwai Chang wasn't the only one who could aid him; he wasn't about to sit back and let inaction decide that for him.

-- -- -- -

Midnight came and went with nothing to show for its passage but a growing tension in the muscles of the young Shaolin. He could _feel_ it coming, looming so near on the horizon that it seemed as though he ought to be able to reach out and grab hold. But those things existed in shadow and shadows were notoriously difficult things to grasp.

He sensed the moment it happened: an almost imperceptible flicker in the back of his brain. A slight sensation too faint to bear a label like pain or anger.

A tiny ripple on the surface of a vast sea.

Still he paced, caged and unable to do anything about it. Confined by his limited perceptions and forced to wait for the liberating call that would come and tell them where to find the newest used-to-be-a-person.

Just a victim like the rest.

A snarl threatened to rise but he choked it back and it came out sounding more like a pathetic whimper. Eyes flashed green in the unlit room as the instincts to hunt, to track down the enemy of his pack and kill it, started to override reason. With that came no awareness of any higher moral thinking, just animalistic simplicity. A confused, hurting creature that sensed danger but was kept collared tightly and thus unable to do anything about it. It made him furious, and he wanted to lash out.

He didn't. Instead he forced that back down as well, deep into the primitive recesses of his mind from where it originated. An area that was gaining ground in the struggle for control that Peter found himself constantly engaged in these days. He was standing on a precipice and it was a precarious line being trod; he was aware of that just as he knew the slightest thing could throw off his balance and send him tumbling into the dark pit that had opened up before his feet.

One misstep.

He tried to remain steady, oh how he was trying, but it was only a matter of time before he tripped and fell. It would consume him; he knew it would. It had to. How long could anyone live once they'd caught fire? Flames licking against the inside of his soul, burning. Always burning. Reducing to ash what he was and leaving behind a hollow for the _other _to move into and set up permanent residency.

Fire, but it was so very dark.

_**Are you referring to me, Peter?**_

_Unless you're aware of another._

_**I'm not trying to destroy you, tiger. **_The tone was soothing again, reassuring in the way an elder sibling tries to banish the fear a younger child has of the dark.

But Peter still feared the dark; he knew too much of what it meant and what lurked within it not to. And it called to him still, sweetly enticing in its promises.

_**You don't need to be frightened of me. We're the same, you and I. We're –**_

_You are not me!_

_**But I am… **_if the voice sounded small suddenly, it didn't curb the growing anger of the only one who heard it.

_Stop saying that! I don't know what you are, but you're not me. You are no part of me._

_**I hate to break it to you, tiger, but I am. **_Was there apology in that soft tremor? Regret? _**You and I are very much part of one another.**_

_Right. You're this evil portion of me that's been hidden all these years and now has just suddenly decided to come out and play! Shit for timing, if that's the case._

_**I'm not evil. **_

_Of course not. _There was no hiding the sarcastic disbelief, not that any attempt was made.

_**Why would you think I'm bad, Peter? **_Sad curiosity, made worse by the clear note of hurt that Peter detected within the words. _**What have I done to harm anyone? **_Unanswered silence prompted the voice further. _**Whom have I hurt?**_

_Me. _The whisper of a thought, no louder, but the voice heard it all the same and suddenly there was an overwhelming sorrow, poignant in its intensity.

Crisp, clear pain.

_**I never meant to hurt anyone, especially not you… **_the strong presence associated with the voice dimmed into a vague feeling. Like it was folding in on itself, curling into a ball for protection in the corner of his mind where awareness met non-existence.

He snorted. _Oh, no. Nobody ever means to but they do it anyway. _

_**I'm sorry.**_

He laughed then, but it was a mirthless melody that barely breathed over the air in front of him. _Yeah, well, sometimes sorry isn't enough._

_**Peter, do we need to talk? **_Blatant worry touched the voice.

And that had to be bad when your psycho self was getting concerned about your behavior.

_I thought we already were? I seem to spend an awful lot of time lately talking to myself._

_**I thought you said I wasn't you. **_False confusion.

_Oh, you would be. I seem to enjoy setting myself up for … this sort of thing._

_**Pain?**_

_In one form or another._

_**I won't leave you.**_

_And yet somehow... that's probably not as comforting as I'm sure you meant it to be._

_**I'm not like the rest of them Peter; I am a part of you. **_

_I'm not getting into that again. _The phone rang then, and something of the wolf in him yipped in dark joy. _Finally. _

_**You wanted this call?**_

_I'm tired of waiting and I'm through talking. _He answered his cell, seeming to contradict his previous words. But the voice knew that conversing in general wasn't what Peter had meant, though the young man favored physical action over verbal exchange sure enough. No, what he meant his was tired of talking to … well, himself after a fashion. Now the cop was ignoring the speaking part of the voice, and that made it worried. More than that, it began to fear.

-- -- -- -

Deep in his meditation, Kwai Chang could feel the inner turmoil raging from within his son. It rolled over the Shambhala master in thickly opaque waves that kept him from catching sight of their source. Still, he knew. That darkness he'd felt his son embrace a few nights prior had seeped into the man's soul now, claws fiercely embedded into the core of who Peter was. Perhaps that wasn't entirely accurate though. Peter had always had a certain tenebrosity within him, even as a child. Maybe it wasn't so much of something digging into him, as it was something finally digging its way out of where it had been so carefully buried away.

That may well mean that whatever Peter had allowed in hadn't been the cause of the soul's eclipse, merely the catalyst for setting events into motion. The Ancient had said that if Peter was unable to defeat the darkness, it would consume him. What Kwai Chang hadn't realized was that it originated from within his son, not without. He'd thought his child had dealt with it before, but he should have realized. Should have known.

But how could he have known that the potential for darkness of such magnitude lurked within the beautiful, caring spirit that he called his son? What had happened to his child to have created such a force?

Maybe the Ancient had been wrong. Maybe leaving Peter alone to deal with this had not been for the best. What if all the _leaving_ people had done in his life was precisely what had prompted its creation in the first place?

What if it_ wasn't_?

Either way, would his child decide that staying simply wasn't worth the heartache any longer? Already he had felt the link between them weaken. Little more than a faint pulse to the strong beat it had once been.

What if Peter did decide not to stay who he was; chose to go, to _change_. Would there be any reaching him then? Would there be anything of him left to reach?

He needed to speak with his son.

-- -- -- -

"Recognize him?"

In the first words spoken to Peter since arriving on the scene a short while ago, Kermit's tone was icy calm. Not entirely certain what he did this time to elicit such a reaction, the younger detective moved to look at the lurid corpse. The throat had been completely ripped out and, just as with the two previous victims, the flesh of the face was shredded with skin hanging loosely off the turned chin in ghastly ribbons. The eyes stared forward with dulled emptiness.

_Eyes? They're both still there._

_**Yes, they are aren't they.**_

_Why?_

_**Perhaps the man was meant to see something. To learn a lesson he hadn't yet managed.**_

_What?_

There was a pause, as if the answer were being considered. _**Given evidence, I'd say the proper respect toward those higher on the food chain than oneself. **_

"Should I?"

"Take a closer look," was the grim reply.

_What am I supposed to see? _

_**Now you want to listen to me?**_

The mental equivalent to a glare was leveled at the other. Allowing the voice to fade into the muted background with all the other irrelevant things, ignoring the sudden protesting it was doing, Peter focused on his senses. Nostrils flared slightly as he picked up the heavy musk of wild animals, of wolves in particular. He sifted through the obvious and focused on the unique smell hidden beneath the strong copper tang in the air, so thick he could taste it.

Searching ... the scent that was as individualistic as a fingerprint if you had keen enough abilities to detect it. An odor that belonged to only one person on the planet.

_"Baker…"_

Now the strange looks he'd gotten upon arriving made a sad sort of sense. Detective Baker had been very vocal about his suspicion and dislike of Peter for some time now. Caine didn't doubt that some of the idiots around here already believed he'd killed the officer. Hell, some of them irrationally thought he'd been responsible for Reynolds' death and Peter had actually liked Jasper. If they could believe that then of course they'd think him capable of murdering someone he'd made no bones about loathing.

"Oh yeah."

Wait a minute. "How'd they id him already?"

"How did you?" The question had all the subtlety of a tank, and the somber innocence it was spoken with had the Shaolin narrowing his eyes, feeling his hackles rise in automatic defense.

"I didn't kill him if that's what you're asking," he growled softly, hazel eyes glinting green.

"Never thought you did. How did you id him?"

The almost undeterminable quirk of lips into a sneer graced Peter's features. _A lie._ It had crossed Griffin's mind, even if it had pained the man to have it do so. Kermit might not have believed that Peter had killed Baker, but the idea had presented itself.

"I picked up his scent," the young priest inflected just the right tonal twist to turn the answer into a challenge.

There was a heartbeat in which Kermit looked at him as though a fear had been confirmed. Another _thump _met keen hearing, marginally faster than the last but probably not easily detected unless you were tuned into such things, as the realization filtered through the seemingly immobile face. _Thump. _Knowledge shone as it clicked on a conscious level that Peter was operating as a hunter now. That he _was _a hunter now. _Thump_.

Quicksilver thoughts reverted back to Caine, "He had his wallet still on him, complete with identification." The sentence was spoken smoothly, the break in which those thoughts had occurred had been no more than a hairsbreadth of moments, but it was too late. It hadn't gone unnoticed.

Peter straightened, physically moving away from his friend even as mental barriers snapped into place and separated them on an entirely incommensurable level. A mask descended upon that well known face: a curtain falling behind expressive eyes and making them nothing more than a mirror reflection of human.

With that step back, Kermit was greeted by a stranger's cool assessment. Professional calculation appraised him, one hunter recognizing another and taking measure. Peter was apparently not threatened by whatever he saw in Kermit, and that made the ex-mercenary's jaw tighten in insult even as he wanted to cringe. What could make Peter look at him and _not_ see a threat? What did that say about his friend now?

The foreign quality still hovering tangibly about him, Peter moved to analyze the body. The unsettling preternatural fluidity in the grace of his movements was something Kermit had only seen once in his life: the night of the first mauling after returning from Myanmar, when this had all first begun. Only now, it went beyond that. Far beyond. There wasn't a trace of Peter in this creature.

Caine was talking dispassionately to someone, maybe it was to him but Kermit wasn't able to focus on the words. It wasn't his friend speaking them. It might look like Peter. Might even sound like him, if you ignored the faintly lyrical accent that colored the words ever so subtlety, but it definitely wasn't him.

Yet the instinctual part of Kermit said it was Peter, and wasn't that just a bitch? How could it be reconciled that this uncanny person in front of him was one and the same as the warm friend he'd known for years, and not some evil invader using his friend like a marionette?

Griffin was floundering, a fish out of water who knew it was in deep trouble. He itched to shoot something and at the moment he wasn't feeling all that particular about what. He realized with a start that his hand had strayed to the Eagle resting near his heart, and the stranger wearing his friend's face was gazing at him with animal alertness and wariness resting in reflective green eyes.

Looking at him like a potential threat now. The gun changed things, and Peter wasn't enough of an animal to not understand it. Animal cunning, abilities, and amorality met with an all too knowing human mind.

_"Are you going to shoot me, Kermit?"_  
_"Why would I want to shoot you, kid?"_

Kermit felt his blood turn to ice at the remembered question, and he froze as the answer tranquilly met his gaze with a ferine smile.


	17. Ch 17

_Oh shit._

Meeting those eyes wasn't like trying to stare down another human being; in that moment of perceived challenge there was a tautness running through Peter's muscles that held the young priest completely immobile. Coiled tension ready to be released at the slightest provocation. When that untamed smile broadened, flashing teeth in the dimness, an odd expression came to rest on the well known features. Amusement mixed with something like pride which didn't fade even when Kermit flicked his gaze away.

Caine nodded in approval, instantly knowing the moment that its packmate had ended the challenge. They both knew that the ex-mercenary couldn't win; both the wolf and the human within were glad that proving it hadn't come to bloodshed, and for surprisingly similar reasons. He was content in that and shifted his focus back on the dead prey at his feet.

The removal of the wolf's attention had Griffin exhaling harshly, though as silently as he could manage. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath until that moment; under the influence of classic déjà vu, he'd been frozen under that intense gaze. Once again he hadn't known what to do, which was disturbing in its own right because he rarely felt helpless and never relished it when he did. What did you do when confronted by a wild animal? Made sure you didn't challenge it right? That's when it came to his awareness that staring Peter down probably wasn't a good way of going about that, and he'd diverted his gaze elsewhere. Somehow the wolf had known the second he'd looked away even though his eyes were hidden behind dark lenses.

The wolf.

God, it was there. In Peter. No, it _was_ Peter. His brain was still trying to wrap around that one because if true, as evidence insisted it must be, it changed everything. There certainly was no indication of it being locked back away any time soon and Kermit had the feeling that had Caine not valued his friendship then things could have gotten very ugly just then. Instead he'd shown a startling patience, the kind one showed family.

Wolf. Pack?

Was that it? Did the kid consider him to be part of his unit? Was that why the detached edge had vanished when he'd unconsciously gone for his gun? Had his loyalties and intentions been weighed and tested? If that were the case then it was clear that he had passed, otherwise he'd probably be dead. Wouldn't he? Or was there still enough human control that would have kept the younger man in check? Then again, maybe it was the wolf that had saved the confrontation this time. Such displays were not uncommon in a pack hierarchy, and were usually tolerated well and resolved without physical injury to any member of the group.

Obviously Peter preferred that his pack remained in one piece, as any sane creature would. That worked to his benefit, gave him time to figure out how to help his friend. He watched as the kid went about working, seemingly unmindful or uncaring of the suspicious glares being lent in his direction. Given the nature of the beast, Kermit was certain that it was more a case of disinterest than of not noticing.

It was ridiculous anyway if they stopped to think about it. There was absolutely no way that Peter could be responsible for the deaths. But fear led people to travel down paths they would - _might_ - otherwise be smart enough to avoid.

Fear or not, didn't change the fact that if any of them tried to harm the kid they'd find out exactly why Kermit had been such a good mercenary. And great, now he was starting to feel protective of Caine.

Oh, fine, he'd felt a strange responsibility for the kid ever since he'd met him all those years ago at Blaisdell's, and damn Paul for doing that to him.

Smartass kid, had been too clever for his own good. Over time that initial feeling of responsibility, started no doubt by the fact it was Paul's kid, had changed to a sort of older brother need to protect. Then there was the promise he'd made to watch out for the kid… down the winding path, and here they were.

_Focus Griffin. _He needed to pay attention to the matter at hand. _Get through this morning and then figure out what to do. _What the hell, he'd been doing nothing but dancing on razor blades since this began anyway.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder who else was considered a part of Peter's dysfunctional pack. Moreover, how they were going to take the news.

-- -- -- -

Enhanced senses scanned the area, seeking green eyes narrowing in threat as nostrils once again flared as the suddenly strong scent of _other wolf _rose in the air. A low growl toyed with the fringe of existence in outrage and annoyance.

Not his pack. His territory but that smell wasn't his pack. It didn't belong here. Hunting in his claimed area wouldn't be tolerated either. Sure the prey hadn't been liked, he might have eventually killed the creature himself, but that wasn't the issue. It was his territory. His. Not theirs.

_**Tiger, we really need to talk.**_

He'd find the trespasser and deal with it. There was a _them_, but his nose told him it was mostly just the one. The prey smelled like the one, which meant that it had likely been the alpha's quarry. Mostly packs shared, but there were always exceptions.

_**Peter, you need to think rationally. I know that its overwhelming your mind right now but –**_

_Shut up, _it was a soft hiss of thought, but the menace was blatantly clear. That annoying buzzing in his head, like a fly. The pest couldn't be silent. He wondered if there was a way to rid himself of it.

_**You need to listen. There are things you have to know. **_The voice was stern, commanding. Challenging.

Snarling in response, eyes little more than fierce gleaming slits, he focused on silence. On locking away the irritant.

_**Peter, no –**_

He felt the edges of panic from the voice and then he felt nothing.

Smirking in triumph, he crouched and continued with the task before him. Gloved fingers ghosted over the ground, butterfly soft, searching.

The wolf was slightly chafed by the covering on his hands. He knew that the gloves were necessary but he wasn't sure why he cared what they thought was necessary. He could still feel the press of their thoughts on his mind, pushing against his barriers and demanding entrance. _Idiots_. They didn't even realize they broadcasted their intentions so damn loudly. No wonder the stupid little sheep got picked off so easily; they practically screamed to be killed.

Breathing, he calmed himself. Sheep or not, they were his. _His. _And that alone made them untouchable to these outsiders invading his claim.

_Bingo! _Questing fingers finally located what he'd scented out and pulling the credit card sized item out from under the grime that had obscured it from view; he smiled internally with grim satisfaction.

It was a key and though little could distinguish it from any other such keycard, the small symbol in the corner might just be enough. Kermit could figure it out; he had faith in his packmate's abilities.

"_Kermit_," testing the name, it sounded funny to his ears. It didn't really suit his packmate at all; the obsession with green aside. He rolled the word silently around on his tongue a few more times before shaking his head in distaste.

"Griffin," spoken with a hint of speculation and was met with immediate approval. There was a name more fitting for the confusing individual he counted pack. The man was a contradiction on every level: from the inconsequential plane of sight down to the depths of personality. Alpha in his own right, and yet curiously not so. Still, he wasn't truly submissive nor was he one of the lowly ones. He'd backed down from the challenge, true enough… out of _concern_. But Griffin's worry had not been for himself, rather it was for Peter.

Yes, he'd done well in choosing this member of his pack.

"Griffin," this time said more loudly, firmly. Gaining the man's attention, there was a subtle shift to quizzical surprise on a face that most would see as holding no expression at all. It helped that he could sense something of the man's thoughts, though didn't probe deeply. It was just vague feeling, really.

Holding up the card between two deft fingers, he flicked it around so that Griffin might view the telling mark on the back. "Find the owner." Succinct in the order, he offered the keycard in Kermit's direction and handed it over before allowing his gaze to scan the ground one more time.

Standing, he rolled his spine in a lazy stretch more reminiscent of feline than canine manner. Satisfactorily done with his preliminary search and finished with the body, he moved off to follow the faint taint in the air. It wouldn't lead anywhere, he knew that already. But he felt like walking, burning off some of the excess energy that always seemed stored up in his muscles, and besides… though he _knew _they weren't around, he still felt compelled to check over the area for further signs of intrusion.

Fifteen minutes and some growling later, he made his way back toward the scene. Baker's body had been removed and the crime scene photographer had ceased taking pictures for the time being. Of the cops that had been there, which was more than usual due to the high profile of the case, the victim and the nature of discovery, most had since left. Griffin was among the ones who remained.

He usually was.

-- -- -- -

_Dear Detective Caine,_

_By now, no doubt, you have received my gift to you. There is no need to thank me, truly. It was a pleasure to rid you of the nuisance. I would not normally speak ill of the ones who no longer matter, but I am unable to comprehend precisely how such an individual as that got to any sort of prominent standing within your profession. Still, the world is full of fools._

_I cannot help but feel as though you are angry about recent events, though I am bereft of understanding as to why it would bother you so greatly. They are but a few sheep against the whole of the flock. You must understand, wolves chase sheep. It is the job of the shepherd to keep the lambs from slaughter. To sacrifice one's own life for that of the flock. Can you do that, I wonder. Would you die to protect them: even such as this last one? They do not understand the danger, do not even scent the predators. But you do, do you not? _

_Is that just the job, or is it because of who you are? What you are. Have you begun to understand?_

_Predators are, after all, territorial. I could never blame you for wanting to keep another out of your territory. Still, it is a vast expanse for only one to maintain. _

_The time of the lone wolf is over._

_¤ Váli _

-- -- -- -

It was the same hand-writing; they'd confirmed it. Elegantly old-fashioned in its artistic flow, it really wasn't hard to identify. Beyond that, the wolf could easily detect the scent clinging to it now. Fingerprints had been carefully avoided, but the personalized odor touched a nerve.

This Vali was the one who was gallivanting around his claim and killing off _his_, having the nerve to call this blatant disrespect and challenge _a gift. _

They still didn't know much about the killer on an official level. The wolf might be able to identify the smell of his enemy, but that wasn't going to hold a lot of credibility with anyone. It hadn't mattered overly much at this point, as the closest he'd been to the source was a scent hours old.

They had the pendants and the keycard, all bearing the same symbol. A Norse rune, Griffin had determined though its purpose for being left was still unknown. The wolf had the distinct feeling of being led somewhere, maybe to someone; it'd been seeing shadows deftly moving through the darkness around it in the human dreams.

It was being called, but didn't understand why unless the enemy had decided to try and take him on finally rather than skulking about the city killing hapless people. But if that were all it was, why leave a so-called gift for him?

He had to be being played with, and that drew out a furious snarl from deep inside. It was probably a good thing he was alone right now as he hadn't been able to keep that one in and he certainly didn't need to bring more suspicion to himself about anything. True, they couldn't stand against him but then they didn't have to stand against him in order to make his life hell. As if things weren't already complicated enough.

The wolf wouldn't have cared about the job or the rest of it past protecting territory and pack except that the human within did. Helping people was something he'd wanted to be able to do for so long that he hadn't been able to imagine it not being part of his life, and damn anyone who tried to take that away from him. Because it was the human's, and he cared so much about it, it made the wolf care. Well, if not care it still sought to protect the ideas of Job and Work and Law. These were words that stood out in the human mind. _Right_ was there too, which inevitably led to the confusing and ambiguous concept of _Wrong_. Though the wolf didn't fully understand, it grasped enough to know that Wrong was killing without reason. That made sense, every animal should know that. It upset the balance and threw everything out of harmony. It threatened survival, which was blatantly clear as the enemy insisted on demonstrating. The deaths were getting more immediate, if not by genuine like then certainly by simple distance. The last prey taken down had been a member of his own precinct, not just a distant friend or an old love. Who would the enemy choose next?

Protecting wasn't anything new, so out of the bond, it would Protect the humans that its other part cherished.

"Got it!" The triumphant exclamation brought the wolf from its musings and focused on Griffin. There was a distinctly predatory tinge to the older one's face, a grim air of satisfaction and something about his body told of an immediate need to move, even though there wasn't so much as a twitch of it in his posture. The man was good.

"What?"

"The location of a warehouse where a company using this logo," he flicked the bagged card with his finger as he spoke, "has rented out space."

Warehouse? Cold. Cement. Drains. Cleaner. The wolf couldn't repress the human shiver that ran over his skin. Yes, that could very well be where the prey were caged during the three day wait between hunts.

"We'll need backup." _More pack,_ part of his mind whispered but that wasn't possible at the moment. Right now its pack consisted of the ex-mercenary nearby; the others hadn't been weighed yet. Still, they'd have to do. The two females that called him partner would come.

That might not be enough.

"I've already told the captain, she's sending Skalany and Jody with us." He frowned, a mere downward quirk of the lips. "She'll be coming as well."

_Yes, it's difficult to protect a potential mate, especially when one's mate is more than capable of protecting itself. But that's the way it should be. Strength is vital to survival and anything less isn't worthy of continuation._

Still, the wolf sympathized.

-- -- -- -

It was empty. He knew it before they'd even gotten past the doors. Quiet: devoid of any sounds of living movement or existence. Moving into the basement, he found the place of his nightmare visions. The cement-walled room with the small air vent and drain toward the center. The pungent stench of chlorine hung heavily in the oddly hazy air of the close confines, overshadowing the fainter traces of human that were present but couldn't be identified.

The others, including his packmate were elsewhere in the building. He could hear them, though his keen sense of smell couldn't make it past the thick odor of bleach. That sense effectively negated for the moment, he comforted himself with the sounds they made as they breathed, moved and spoke. They echoed dully in the empty building.

The pervasive smell was making his eyes water, powerful enough that he could taste it and it made him want to throw up. He needed air, maybe it would soothe the pounding that had grown behind his eyes.

Not running, but very nearly, he made his way out of the warehouse and leaned hard against the outer wall of the building. Body shaking, a strong reaction against the harsh odor that had thrown so many of his senses out of whack, he could do little for a moment but attempt a deep breath.

The attempt only served to set him off on a coughing fit that lasted for several minutes, but, finally, with extreme effort he managed to bring his breathing back under control. Inhaling deeply, he allowed the clean air to sink into his lungs before exhaling the useless remains and repeating the process.

Inhale. Exhale.

The dim lighting of the night seemed glaringly bright and caused the drumming to intensify.

Keep eyes closed. Check.

They hurt anyway.

Hell, he hurt.

Slipping down the wall to ease trembling muscles, brushing away the tears that had tracked their way down his face in protest of the overwhelming assault, the part of his brain able to function at all wondered at why he was having such a bad reaction to cleaner. Sure, it had been unnecessarily strong and his senses were a lot sharper now… but this was beyond a bad backlash.

And how had the _others_ tolerated it, if he was reacting so harshly against it? There was no indication that they'd had any problems, or they would have found a different method of cleaning.

He recalled smelling a touch of bleach on the victims, but if they'd been in that room then there would have been more than a touch. That smell would have clung to them for days and definitely would have killed them. So they'd.. what? Intentionally used a stronger chemical or used the same but in higher concentration? To get rid of traces in the room… or to mess with him? After everything he couldn't imagine that they were trying to kill him through asphyxiation, especially when he could obviously have left – and did so – at any time.

Damn but it had been strong. Rising on unsteady legs, balance tenuous at best, he half-turned to rest one hand against the wall to lend much needed support.

Under more normal circumstances, maybe he would have been able to smell the one who approached behind him, because he certainly hadn't heard the man. _Distracted?_ Maybe, and that was irritating.

"My son." It was hesitant, unsure. As if not quite certain that were true in spite of visual evidence. A hand had reached out and lighted on Peter's shoulder at the same time he'd spoken.

Turning on his heel, distressed expression fleeing as it was replaced with the wide-eyed alertness of a startled wolf. Pain only consciously forgotten but undetectable as he moved.

Kwai Chang's own eyes widened in equal surprise, though of an entirely different sort, at the graceful prowling movements of his son as the man shied from the touch. And it _was_ prowling; the wolf within hovering just beneath the skin. The older priest could almost see it.

"Peter, you must stop."

The wolf ceased motion, a brow arching. _Must? Command? _

_No. _What reason had he to listen to the old man?

_Father? _Yes. _Pack? _I don't know.

_No. _

"You cannot continue this way, my son."

Sad amusement flecked coolly alert green eyes that still held traces of red from the reaction against the bleach. His voice was rougher than usual from the coughing, almost dry sounding. "Why?" So much contained in that one word; a lifetime's worth of subtext.

"I do not-"

"Yeah, you 'do not know'… _I_ _know_. Do you have any idea how irritating that phrase gets?" The wolf was willing to bet the old master did.

"Peter, this darkness that is in you is not you. You must fight it."

Bewilderment and honest confusion. "Why would I want to fight it? It _is_ a part of me; it always has been. I get that now. Fighting is really a futile endeavor by this point." The affected lyrical rhythm of the speech was back, had never really left. It was only stronger now. More noticeable. Its rough musical edge was dangerously beautiful, like a wolf's song.

"It _**is not**_ you." The father's tone was forceful, demanding agreement. As if saying so made it true.

Familiar.

"How would you know what's me and what isn't?" Subtle shifting of muscles beneath supple skin as prowling motion turned to stalking. Hunting, though a glimmer of not-quite-humor rested mockingly in glowing eyes.

Sensing the clear charge in the air, the rise of challenge unable to be overlooked, Kwai Chang turned to keep his child in sight. "I will not fight you."

Peter laughed. The wild sound was unsettling, unfriendly. Pure adrenaline and pain. Darkness tinged madness. Without even the slightest warning, he struck out at his father. The Shambhala master barely managed to parry the blow though the elegant defensive move used would never have alluded to that.

The son snorted in deriding amusement. "That was cute, really."

"I do not wish to hurt you, my son."

"You, hurt me? Of course not. When have you _ever_ done that? Absurd." He seemed to be musing, his voice held a thoughtful distance in it suddenly. "Could you destroy me? Would you if you had to? I think it'd almost be worth finding out." The last word had only just been spoken and Peter was gone.

Not even Kwai Chang Caine was able to track his departure.

* * *

_Quick note: there is an odd use of pronouns in this chapter. It's done purposefully, and hopefully with the intended effect._


	18. Ch 18

_- the nerve. command? -_

The wolf was downright furious, unable to let it go. It had taken the last ounce of will that it possessed not to rip out the old man's throat. Not pack. Definitely not.

- _enemy?- _

_No!_

_- fine. but not pack! - _The wolf could be adamant too and it didn't like the Shambhala Master. However, if the human part of it desired no harm to befall the Father, then it would Honor that. _It _didn't Betray, which was more than could be said for some.

The mental sigh softly reverberating through his skull had the wolf shaking his head. - _agreed. no harm. -_

_Good._

The wolf snorted at that, wondering if maybe its human part was just a bit forgetful. Nothing about that old priest was Good.

It was being unreasonable, of course, and it understood that this was a result of confusion. Where there should have been simple lines to use in dictating behavior, there were instead complex patterns and fuzzy edges. Too much was unknown, and that was unsettling for it. It had to trust the human within to decipher the lines, but at least there was that. It did trust the human side implicitly… after all he was a part of it, and the wolf trusted itself without reserve.

There was no room for self doubt in its world.

So it relied on what it could deduce from the human mind, and it listened to what he said. Peter had a penchant for lying to himself, but he didn't lie to the wolf. He couldn't.

The wolf knew.

Still, it didn't change the fact that things were confusing. Like the Father. _Liar_. _Hypocrite_. _Traitor_. It understood these words from Peter, _he _hadthought them first, and still he denied them. Denied himself. Denied instinct: the wolf.

_It's complicated._

The wolf snorted again, derisively. _- shouldn't be. -_

His eyes were still burning, and even as the internal dialogue played out it was searching out its packmate. Vision had dimmed, irritation causing sight to be fairly useless beyond illuminating the hazy outline of objects, so it utilized his nose and ears to locate and navigate the way to Griffin. Though it knew that the ex-mercenary remained fine, the wolf felt the need to make certain.

Besides, it was hurting and that made it want to be near its pack.

It didn't take long to track down Griffin; the man was just where every sense said he'd be: growling at someone over the phone about getting here to see if there was any evidence. When the man slanted a glance over at the wolf, he told them to bring an ambulance while they were at it before hanging up.

"What happened to you?" Cautious but alert, and the seemingly neutral tone of voice held within it undeniable concern.

Tilting his head, the wolf seemed puzzled about the question. Unable to answer or think beyond the pounding between his ears, he merely continued to blink rapidly in a futile effort to make his eyes stop burning.

He was so very tired.

Barriers that otherwise might have been up, such as the instinct to evade being touched, were gone in the presence of his packmate so that when the man reached up quickly to still Peter, holding his chin between the thumb and pointer fingers firmly, the wolf didn't move.

It wasn't until Griffin shifted the placement of his thumb that the wolf realized that, in a vain attempt to cleanse and relieve the tortured tissue, tears were still falling from his eyes.

-- -- -- -

Looking at the face of his friend, Kermit felt a jolt of shock course through his body. Just a few minutes ago the kid had been fine, as fine as Peter got these days anyway, and now…

Now he looked like an extra for some horror flick. There were traces of blood on his face, deposited there by fingers which had obviously scratched too deeply into his own flesh if the marks on his hands were anything to go by. Red, watery eyes glowed dully at him. Sightless and irritated, the bloodshot tissue was obviously inflamed. There was a definite pallor to his face, though the cheeks held a feverish cast. The normally smooth skin of the forehead was bunched slightly, caused by eyebrows drawing together in a subtle grimace.

His friend was clearly in pain.

"What happened to you?" The natural low voice of the ex-mercenary brushed lightly against the air as the man himself sought not to spark any further pain in his friend. The muscles in the jaw beneath his fingers were tense, trembling along with the rest of the younger detective's body. Kermit hadn't noticed that immediately, though he ought to have.

Swallowing with obvious effort, he leaned away from Kermit; freeing himself of the grip as his head came to rest against the wall's cool surface. "Don't know. Was in the basement. Smelled cleaner. Chlorine. Really strong. Had to get out of there. Went outside."

The wolf paused before adding, almost as an afterthought, "Was where they kept prey. Could smell human there."

Ignoring the obvious wrongness about those statements, Griffin allowed himself to focus on the basic problem. "If it's that strong we better get everyone out of here, just in case." Never hurt to err on the side of caution once in awhile. Besides, if looking at the kid was any sign, it wasn't healthy to be in this building.

-- -- -- -

Peter merely nodded in return: the briefest of motions and it still managed to send red-hot shocks ricocheting around his skull like a wicked speed game of Pong. He wondered if Kermit would just decapitate him… you could live without your head, right?

He snickered wearily, prompting another round of coughing; at this moment he was willing to find out.

_God I hurt. _

_- Griffin will help.- _

_ He usually does. _

_- Pack. __**supposed to**__. -_

Unable to ignore the emphasis the wolf placed on that last part, Peter was still unwillingly to argue the point. Various reasons were behind that, not the least of which was the fact that he wasn't sure there was anything left to argue. Not when he looked at it from the wolf's point of view. Things were a lot simpler from its perspective, and there was something both refreshing and reassuring to be found in that.

Of course, from its vantage point several of his family members deserved to punished, and that really wasn't something he wanted to dwell on. The past was much too loaded of a subject; it was better to just move on.

And that worked, because the wolf was very much about the present.

-- -- -- -

"The levels aren't wrong. Look," the man snapped, yanking off the hazmat headgear in order to communicate his ire more fully, "there is absolutely no way your friend could have smelled the chlorine!"

A dark brow arched in silent response to the raised voice, the glare radiating out from behind those green lenses was certainly felt, if not seen, and the HAZMAT team's leader swallowed noticeably.

Kermit's voice was soft; deadly calm, "Obviously he did, or we wouldn't have known it was there now would we?" Glancing over to where a paramedic was examining Jody, he found himself biting down on a sudden rise of anger. Everyone besides Peter had been found to be fine: the young Shaolin himself, however, had been taken to the hospital immediately upon the first paramedics' arrival, unable to breath properly.

"I don't know how he knew it was there but there's no way he could have smelled it. The equipment barely picked it up," the words were spoken with caution; a placating manner evident now. The man quite clearly didn't want to get on Kermit's bad side – at least no more than he already was. As if trying to prove the point, he continued. "Some dogs wouldn't even have been able to detect it."

Well hell.

-- -- -- -

Tired blue eyes watched the rise and fall of his son's chest, as if witnessing the action were the only way to convince himself that Peter was still there. They could have lost him, and they didn't even know why. According to doctors, there was nothing wrong with him.

Sure. Nothing. Except the fact that he hadn't been breathing upon his arrival to the hospital.

Of course the doctors agreed with the idea that in reality something had to be wrong with the detective, they were simply at a loss to figure out what. They'd been told that their patient had been around chlorine in trace amounts. That couldn't be the problem, they had insisted. Certainly exposure to high levels of the substance could lead to the symptoms they were observing, but the level to which he'd been exposed… no. It just didn't happen.

The amount of chlorine in the room had been so insignificant that standing in that room for hours, let alone the minute or so that the man had actually been in there, wouldn't have hurt him. A person wouldn't even realize that there was chlorine in there.

They couldn't explain how the cop had known it was there. Further, there had been nothing in any of the tests that indicated any level of chlorine in the body. The lungs were clear, and perfectly healthy if one discounted the fact he'd stopped breathing. The heart was fine. The brain, so far as they could tell, was fine. Nothing was off about the blood, or the oxygen levels within it.

He'd just stopped breathing.

Without reason.

That just didn't work for Paul. He wanted a real answer; something tangible. Something where they could say, 'Look, here, this is what's wrong – this is what we're going to do about it'.

Something he could do.

But there was nothing to be done but sit here and make sure the next breath came.

The doctors assured him that Peter was fine, would be fine. He was resting comfortably and would wake soon. But these were the same group of people who kept telling him that there wasn't anything wrong with Peter in the first place, so Paul didn't feel inclined to put much stock in anything they had to say.

Besides, for all their assurances to the contrary, they had called in another doctor: some sort of specialist in rare disorders or something. He hadn't really been listening by that point, his mind had drifted.

Under other circumstances he'd have been highly annoyed with himself for the lapse, but given that this was Peter lying there for no reason…

It was the unknown that made it all the more scary. Had it been a bullet at least he'd have known. Would have been aware of what to expect.

_God, Peter couldn't die._ Paul had already lost him, for all intents and purposes, and dying meant he would never find his son again.

The idea was simply too horrendous to contemplate.

It was his fault that things had gotten so bad. He should never have left, and certainly not like he'd done. Things had just seemed so complicated at the time; he had been too dangerous to be around. He had needed to reconnect with his past and conquer old demons before he felt capable of once again knowing who he was. Of being certain that his presence wouldn't hurt his family.

But his absence had hurt them and now his return had and Peter was just too quiet and still and wasn't that screwed up?

Mentally babbling and well aware of that fact, he briefly wondered what people would think if they could hear the tough old mercenary panicking, like some green recruit in his first firefight, before deciding that he really didn't care.

Kwai Chang had been there earlier, seeming unusually disturbed and conflicted. He'd left without saying anything; Paul hadn't cared. All he could think of was the possibility of Peter dying and the rest of them never understanding why or knowing what had happened in the first place, and Paul finally understood exactly what he'd put his family through by disappearing like he had.

The whole situation would be poetic justice, of a sort, if not for the fact that it meant that Peter was hurting still. That Annie and the girls were. It was only poetic if Paul himself was the only one hurting. Otherwise it was just the product of the contemptible being who ran this world like it was playing some bent game.

Maybe it was. Maybe it was a universal theme. Certainly there were sick games being played with them all right now, especially Peter.

Paul had long thought that about God, especially as he'd seen more and more of the depravity of human nature. What kind of twisted individual comes up with a species capable of the things that humans were?

Given the creation, what did it say of the creator?

Of course people liked to throw out the idea of free will. Sure. Except that seriously conflicted with the idea of predestination: 'God's Plan'. If paths were already figured out, no matter what, then free will wasn't really present. There was always the possibility that God merely had foreknowledge of the events that would occur and didn't interfere. But then, what were miracles if not intervention? Not that Paul was against miracles.

He could use one right now.

-- -- -- -

The first sense to really come online, as awareness returned, wasn't sight, of course, it was smell. A specific and welcome fragrance: Griffin. He was close by and the most primitive part of the wolf latched on to that fact and found comfort in it even as the rest of his mind tried to fight its way to full-fledged consciousness. As that awareness seeped slowly back in, however, he wasn't sure he really wanted to be awake.

He hurt, worse than before, but he cracked his eyes open anyway and wasn't prepared as the light caused molten eruptions to flare up in his head. Jamming his eyes closed, he used on arm to block the painful rays from reaching the watery red orbs.

Even so, other senses told him what his eyes could not. His nose insisted he was in the hospital, which was understandable given how much pain he was in, and all the machines monitoring his vitals confirmed it with their steady beeps.

_What happened?_

_- bad smell. -_

_What?_

_- bad smell. strong. - _

_O-kay. That doesn't really help much._

_- it hurt. we slept. –_

He remembered the overwhelming odor. He'd had to leave the basement, and then there'd been an interesting confrontation.

A lazy smirk threatened to pull up the corners of his mouth, courtesy of the wolf's strange humor. It felt the displeasure of its human part, and allowed the mirth to fade as it continued.

_- found Griffin. helped. couldn't breath. - _

_Why?_

_- too much. -_

_Of what?_

_- everything. -_

Well this wasn't helping to ease the massing storm building between his temples. Working past the pain, he sniffed the air delicately. Kermit was still nearby, so was Paul. He could dimly hear their voices, but the words didn't make sense. He felt like he was listening to a conversation through water, and he was reminded vaguely of Charlie Brown.

At some point his father had been there, but it must have been awhile ago as the scent had faded. Been written over by a plethora of newer, stronger scents. Still he was able to pick up the uncertainty and fear that laced the personalized scent.

Better his father than him. Peter was tired of feeling unsure of things; it was one of the reasons he found himself becoming more comfortable with the idea of the wolf. There was rarely a moment when the wolf didn't feel confident and sure of itself. It was even sure of him, though Peter didn't understand why it would be.

_- we're the same. one. -_

_How?_

_- just is. no question. -_

_I can't accept that._

_- why? - _When no answer came, a suspiciously pleased rumble echoed inside his head.

_- sleep. - _

Peter's eyelids fell heavily, though he attempted to fight the enforced slumber as the more primitive side resumed control. Still, he couldn't find fault with the idea of rest.

So he slept.

-- -- -- -

"There's nothing in his system to have caused this."

Kermit shook his head, trying to figure out another piece of the puzzle. "They couldn't find anything more than minute amounts at the scene either; it actually makes the fact they didn't find any of it in him a good thing."

"Good thing?" Paul's brain just wasn't working right, the obvious things were starting to seem exotic.

"If there had been, certain people would have insisted he'd put it there. Given there are those convinced he's involved-"

"They'd try and use that to collar him with all this."

"Exactly. Of course, there was still chlorine there."

"Yes."

"Nobody else could smell it and the level was so low that it almost didn't register on their equipment."

"But Peter smelled it."

"Yes, he did. And obviously it effected him pretty harshly."

"What aren't you telling me, Kermit?"

"I told you what I found out."

"No, you told me some of what you found out. I know you Kermit, and you're hiding something. I want to know what it is." He wasn't asking anymore, and the command of it wasn't lost on Kermit.

"I still think there's some type of telepathic association between Peter and the killer-"

"But…"

"I'm no longer convinced that's all it is. I figured his increased senses and … predatory behavior were a result only of that link but I'm beginning to suspect there's a lot more to it."

"Such as?"

"Keeping in mind I have nothing beyond my own opinion to back this up with, I think there's something physical linking him to… something." The shade-guarded eyes didn't keep the frustration from leaking in to color the low pitch of his voice.

Paul blinked in confusion. "As in a physical object binding him to this creature or something else entirely?"

Kermit shifted his stance, looking suddenly very uneasy. "I think it's something _in him_ that binds him to these wolves."

"Given that all tests have come up clean of any foreign substances, I'm assuming you mean something he inherited as opposed to a drug or anything of that nature?" Off from Kermit's nod, Paul shook his head. "You know his father, are you trying to tell me you think he's got any of that .. _wolf_.. in him?"

"Setting aside what I may or may not believe of Kwai Chang Caine, there's something we've overlooked in the equation."

"Like?"

"What do we know about Peter's biological mother?"


	19. Ch 19

"I'm fine." Why did this conversation hold the typical déjà vu vibe he'd been forced into becoming used to? Maybe he should just record it, rewind and press play. It'd save him the trouble of dealing with people.

"No, you're not."

"I feel fine." Okay, that wasn't entirely true either. The light was still proving an irritant to his eyes, but his vision had mostly cleared up. Well, if one discounted the sparks that would flare up behind those hazel orbs every time movement occurred. There was a slight headache lingering, but the deep-seated pain that had seared across his mind had dulled thanks to the terrific painkillers the hospital had given him.

Unfortunately, for whatever reason, they hadn't done much for the rest of his body. Or maybe they had diluted pain elsewhere, which was a worrying thought briefly, when he considered how much he still hurt. Made him wonder exactly how he'd be feeling if not for those friendly little pills.

Oh well, wasn't as though they needed to know that. One didn't broadcast their weaknesses; it was a quick way to get dead. The weak were prime prey for any hunter, and Peter wasn't foolish enough to think that those after him wouldn't take advantage of any perceived failing he had.

No, he was fine. Fine enough, anyway.

"That might be true," the doctor conceded with only slight disbelief making its way into his consolatory tone, false agreement meant to soothe, "but that's a result of the medication in your system."

Why wouldn't they let him leave? He didn't want to be here. "I don't need your permission to leave."

"Detective Caine-"

Hazel eyes narrowed even as a friendly grin worked its way into being. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well, we haven't been able to determine that as of yet."

"Oh?" Pure innocence emanated from calm words, working with the affable smile to create an oddly disconcerting vibe, and Peter was all too aware of its effect on the doctor.

"We're going to run a few more tests-"

"No, you're not." Still that smile, pleasantly firm in its denial. "You haven't found anything wrong with me because there isn't anything to find." Again, that wasn't entirely true, but what there was off about him wasn't something that they were going to detect. Not unless they were psychic, and Peter could sense enough about the doctor to know he didn't have the ability in him.

_How do I know that?_

_- just is. -_

_That's not a helpful answer._

A mental shrug was his only response from the wolf, apart from a vague aura of disinterest. Nothing else answered him, and he had the temporary insight saying he should wonder about that, but the doctor had been talking and managed to pull him from his thoughts.

More specifically, the man's tone did.

"We can't allow you to leave yet. I understand that-"

The rest of the man's sentence faded into the background as Peter's mind unerringly focused on the part that instantly caused his hackles to rise.

"You can't _allow_ me?" That was the second time they'd refused his desire to leave, trying to cage him in here. Wasn't going to work.

He slid off the bed upon which he'd been sitting, booted feet hitting the floor with an oddly silent, yet solid, resonance reminiscent of a large feline. Movements fluid in spite of the fireworks flashing behind his eyes, he grabbed his leather jacket and shrugged into it – glad that he'd managed to get mostly dressed before anyone had noticed. "I've already signed myself out, Doctor. There isn't much you can do about it."

The amiably smile never slipped from his face.

He'd made it to the door before he realized it was blocked. Rising instinct almost made him lash out, but the one standing before him was the one person who had nothing to fear from the wolf.

_- Griffin. -_

"Kermit, move."

"What's going on, kid?"

"I'm leaving." Controlled tone, precise. The false friendly nature was gone, replaced by genuine, albeit weary, affection.

"Why?" Kermit moved, but only to allow the doctor's escape. Peter listened as the man's footsteps grew distant, echoing dully on the glaringly bright hospital floor.

"There's nothing wrong that they can fix."

_'that they can fix' _Interesting qualifier.

"They're just trying to help. You collapsed and stopped breathing; most people would see that as a cause for concern."

Stopped breathing?_ Huh. _Still, "I have to go."

"Why?"

_Why?_ "Because he's out there Kermit. So close, I can feel him," absently fingers rose to massage the side of his head as though hoping to silence the fray. "Have to stop him." Stop the voices.

"You can feel him?" The tone of the question was controlled, blank. And in that emptiness Peter could detect the fear, so strong that the air practically vibrated with its intensity.

It was a good thing he didn't mention that it was beginning to feel crowded in his own skull. That he wasn't sure there was enough room for everybody anymore. That maybe there never had been. The new voice was only a distant thrum right now. Words spoken by it were indistinguishable, but they were there. Taking up space, holding him under.

Making him afraid as he felt himself slip away, like being held beneath the water watching the light grow more distant. Panic welling up even as defeat set in; limbs simply too tired to struggle on.

That's when the wolf took over. _Will _and_ Instinct._ It wasn't frightened; not of the new voice. Not of the old one. It wouldn't give in. Wouldn't let Peter give up. Kept him alive and breathing and whole.

_Stopped breathing. _

Apparently the wolf could only do so much, though. He was losing the war, and it hadn't even really started yet. Peter knew that with a certainty borne of preternatural instinct that bordered on foresight.

A sudden slash of pain tore through his skull and he staggered, would have gone down if it wasn't for Kermit's solid presence at his side, aiding him. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out as the pain persisted, intensified. It rolled against him, like the ocean. One wave would pass, bring momentary respite and hope just before the next slammed into him and chased them away.

_God it hurt!_

And he couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Distantly he felt the bed beneath him as Kermit lowered him down, though he couldn't recall moving away from the door. There was a roaring in his ears that might have been words if he could have made sense of them. He couldn't, so all they were was background noise. A single audio vibration rose above the wash of everything else, what sounded like laughter, but it wasn't his.

Something really was wrong.

And everything came crashing down, a final wave rolling over him and dragging him under, securing him in the velvety blackness of unconsciousness.

-- -- -- -

Having left the hospital last time due to Paul's prompting and the doctor's annoying insistence that her son would be fine and _you should go home and get some rest,_ Anne wasn't budging. Not until her boy opened those beautiful hazel eyes she just knew he had, would she even consider moving from her current location.

_Coma. _The word terrified her. Everything about this situation did. All of the unknowns threatened to overwhelm her with despair. But she was strong, too strong to allow her own emotions to get the better of her. Not now. Later, maybe, when her child was sleeping instead of unconscious.

The doctors had seriously debated hooking Peter up to a machine to ensure that he continued breathing, but in the end had decided against it. His lungs were strong and whatever was causing him to cease respiration wasn't manifesting now. They couldn't identify a cause and suspected that unless it happened again, they wouldn't be able to find it. So they had machines monitoring everything in the hopes they wouldn't need it, but with the silent understanding that they most likely would. As a result of that eventuality, they had everything they'd need standing by.

Anne ignored all that. Ignored the beeps of the monitors, and the constant in-and-outs of the hospital staff over the last ten hours. Ignored the warmth of the sun as it trekked across her face, eventually vanishing altogether while leaving behind a backwash of chilled air. Ignored everything but the steady feeling beneath her hand as Peter's chest rose and fell easily, and the soft, even sounds of his breathing.

Her world had so narrowed to those two single things, that she forgot anything else existed – including Paul in the next chair. When one of the machines' rhythm changed, an unsettling noise for all that it wasn't truly an alarm, she couldn't stop herself from jumping.

Paul's hand was instantly on her shoulder, soothing, as a nurse entered the room to check on the cause. Frowning lightly at the read-out, the woman exited the room without saying anything, only to return with the doctor.

"What's wrong?" voice gruff from lack of use in the past day, Paul's attention was firmly on the man he'd come to loathe.

"We need to get a scan done now."

-- -- -- -

"As you know, we haven't managed to figure out why Peter has fallen into a coma as there doesn't appear to be either an anatomic or a metabolic cause behind it. However, this here," the doctor circled a section of the enlarged brain scan with his finger, circling another portion before continuing, "and here - this type of activity wasn't present before and it's possible it has something to do with what is happening."

"What's it mean?"

"Honestly? We don't have a clue. Some activity in these regions isn't unusual; in fact everyone uses every portion of their brain at various times, percentage and regions used depends on the complexity of the task demanded. But this level of activity…. well, honestly it's amazing. I've never seen it before in a human being. And the fact that it is in someone who is currently in a coma… I just can't explain it."

"Doctor, if you had to guess the cause of the coma-" Paul deliberately left the question open-ended as he wearily rubbed a hand across his face.

"I couldn't begin-"

"Oh, how about you give it a try," the rough growl originated with the green shaded man, and the doctor visibly swallowed.

Sighing with a shake of his head, "Given what you've described to me of the physical environment that Detective Caine was in, it doesn't make any sense but based off from the complaints made by him before he collapsed… I'd be tempted to say that he was suffering from sensory overload." He paused momentarily before continuing, seeming some reluctant or perhaps merely tired. Made sense, everyone else was. "One of my colleagues has suggested the possibility of a neurological disorder known as Sensory Integration Dysfunction or SID. This is a disorder in which a person has difficulty in processing information the brain has received from various senses. The information is sensed normally, but the perception of it is abnormal."

"Your colleague has thought this, but you obviously don't agree."

"No, I don't. I can almost understand why that conclusion could be reached, but at the same time it doesn't make sense. Even if one were to look past the idea that it would have been detected by this point in his life.

"Peter was cognizant of trace amounts of chlorine which could indicate hypersensitivity – except that no human should have been even remotely aware of the presence of the chlorine in the first place, lacking the necessary acuteness of the senses that would have required. The brain can't have problems processing what can't even be sensed."

"Okay, so you have no idea of the cause of the coma. What caused the elevation of his brain activity?"

The doctor began to shake his head negatively once more, his response cut off with Kermit's dry words, "Yeah, 'you do not know'." He was starting to agree with the kid about the annoying quality of that particular phrase and all its close kin.

"I couldn't even begin to guess at a reason."

-- -- -- -

_- wake up. - _

The wolf was getting annoyed. The human part refused to rouse, deeply entrenched in what might have been sleep except for the inability to waken. For a while, it had been unable to be able to aid its human side, too much stimulation too quickly and the darkness had stolen awareness away. The smell had been awful and was the source of the _too much_. The wolf was still tired, the attempts to maintain consciousness had taken their toll on both human and wolf. Probably why the human in it refused to wake up.

_- no time for sleep. things to do. - _It nudged at the human part but failed once again. And it really _was _worn out. Since awakening and becoming aware of the irritating beeping noises in the room - and it was a room, it could tell that even if the human part refused to open his eyes so it could see - but since that moment, it had gradually gotten more and more weary. With that, its ability to impact the human grew less and less and now it had reached the point where it had no choice.

_- fine. - _it relented_. - sleep. -_

And once again the wolf fell into slumber alongside of the human. Neither part aware of anything beyond the all consuming darkness.

-- -- -- -

"Doctor," the nurse seemed hesitant to intrude, but duty bound to do so anyway. "You asked to be notified immediately of any changes with Detective Caine's EEG. His brain activity has fallen."

Paul rose instantly, alarmed by the implications.

Looking at the readout the nurse gave him, the doctor quickly reassured Paul that things were fine. Were actually back to what would be considered normal brain activity. And as potentially reassuring as that could have been, it had the doctor more confused than ever. What could be triggering such dramatic changes within the young man's mind? Further, what could cause such a seemingly impossible consistently high level of activity in the first place?

-- -- -- -

The sun was gone now, it could tell that because the heat of the drifting rays had vanished from the surface of his skin. The room was warm enough, but that wasn't the same and it shivered. It wanted to see, but still the human side adamantly refused to regain awareness. It had slept, and now it was awake again, but not the human. Was the human damaged more?

That wasn't right, because the wolf had the greater ability to sense things and had been hurt by the too much of it all. It knew the human would be affected as well, they were one being. But at the same time they weren't.

Was the human weaker?

That didn't make sense either because if that were true then it should be able to move his body and get out of the too clean room and away from the beep beep beeping of the ear hurting monitors. Sounds that really shouldn't be so painful, except that the wolf couldn't seem to control its hearing quite right. They were too loud, growing louder, and the wolf whimpered.

It needed help but the human wouldn't wake and who else was there? Griffin was pack, but he couldn't hear the wolf. Sometimes the human would speak the wolf's thoughts, but it couldn't even get the human to wake up. The Father could probably hear, but it didn't Trust him. Didn't like him. There was the Voice. It didn't like the Voice either, but at least that was something that could hear and it was running out of options. The human wouldn't approve. He had sent the Voice away in the first place out of irritation and quasi-meshed concepts he had gained from the wolf… and then all of this had happened and the wolf hadn't had time to truly integrate with its human self. Maybe that had caused this. Maybe if it could bring back the Voice, then the human would wake up and he and the wolf could learn to be one instead of two halves that refused to fuse right.

It didn't know how to bring back the Voice though. The wolf didn't know any more than the human did as to what the Voice was, although it wasn't as worried by the presence as he was.

Trying to ignore the ever-present pain in his body, it howled. The chorus was one of a lone wolf, separated from everything Pack, echoing in the confining infiniteness of the dark. Full of Hurt and Loneliness. Isolation making it feel Fear so strongly that it almost bordered on madness. Its cry was of an animal's soul, pure and uninhibited by human pride.

Maybe that was why the Voice answered.

-- -- -- -

"This is just extraordinary. There really isn't another way to describe it. These rapid shifts in his brain are astounding on their own, but this new level of activity is phenomenal."

The doctor's voice was full of awe and wonder, but a lingering hint of disbelief remained. As though afraid that what he was seeing wasn't real and that any moment someone would come take away what could be the biggest thing in his career. He wasn't forgetting that all of this incredible data was being garnered from a man who needed help. He wasn't so cold or callous to think of advancement over the well-being of this one person. His concern for the detective, however, didn't keep him from acknowledging the possibilities that this could hold for the human race.

"What do you think it means?" The nurse was equally awestruck, having never even heard of anything remotely close to what she was seeing.

"I haven't a clue." Seemingly a favorite phrase, though he'd learned to curb the words around the patient's father and the man with the green glasses. They didn't appreciate the wonder of the discovery, and he couldn't blame them for that. So he tried to keep that out of the equation, for their benefit. But here with only his nurse and a few other random medical personnel scattered about, he couldn't help but add, in a tone only half joking, "But seeing brain activity like that really makes you wonder about psychic ability."


	20. Ch 20

It was clear there was a pattern.

There was the obvious connection of Peter, but Kermit knew there was something deeper. Some bigger game being played, otherwise this newest murder just didn't make any sense.

It was a gift, or so the note said.

Another gift. An attempt to get on Peter's good side by killing off potential enemies? No, that didn't make sense. Potential rivals? The man could definitely be an antagonist to the kid, to them all really, but he hadn't been a genuine threat in any sense of the word and certainly not a rival. Peter wouldn't thank the killer for the murder, and on some level the bastard had to know it no matter how delusional he might be.

The only thing Kermit could figure was that it was a claim. Baker had been killed when his protestations of Peter, and suspicions of the kid's involvement, had risen to include the ears of the higher-ups. It was almost like the killer was protecting Caine, but in what world did that make sense? This man hadn't believed that the kid was involved in anything, so why had he been killed? Unless it wasn't wholly a claim on Peter. Maybe it was a claim on the killings themselves. With Peter in a coma, securely in the hospital, a death attributed to the same killer could only help prove that the kid didn't have anything to do with them beyond a reasonable doubt. It was the only good thing Kermit could see in the whole ordeal.

The wolf, the man, whatever else he was, was territorial and he was apparently tired of sharing.

Which worked for Kermit, because it meant one less stupid problem he had to solve. He hadn't figured out, short of threats of bodily harm, how to get the moronic few to see that Peter couldn't remotely have been involved. From the way things looked this morning, the scene thrown into harsh contrasts by the artificial lighting and the rising sun, nobody was even talking about Peter anymore.

Commissioner Kincaid had been murdered.

-- -- -- -

_Who the…_

"Detective Griffin, this is Agent Sigrun and Special Agent Stone of the FBI."

_Yeah, Feds. _That made a certain amount of sense. Made a lot of sense, actually, given the attention these murders had been drawing across the board. Raising a brow slightly at the hand Stone was offering, a light curl of his mouth was the only exterior acknowledgement of the blond-haired agent.

_Was only a matter of time before the big boys turned up._

Glancing up over the top of green lenses, Kermit's eyes roamed toward Agent Sigrun and he silently amended the previous thought. Definitely not just the big _boys._

She was pretty, in a faintly exotic way that made him pause. Exotic was definitely _not _a term he'd have normally associated with someone that looked like her, and he couldn't figure out why he now applied it.

Light brown eyes. Red spirals of curly hair reaching down past her shoulder blades. Moderately tanned skin that somehow seemed at odds with the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her stance was casual and as she drifted slowly about the room, each movement was made with a contained grace that the back of his mind recognized.

She seemed a direct opposite to her partner, who was solid and whose presence commanded attention. Stone was muscular, where the woman was lithe. His movements were more weighty and less careful, where she was controlled and precise to the point of bordering on hesitation. Or caution. An interesting partnership, as different as earth and water, and Kermit realized that he'd really been spending too much time around Caine.

Both of them.

Still, there was something and it wasn't just the irrational irritation at having them invade his domain. Whatever it was, it was grating against those well-honed mercenary instincts he'd so painstakingly spent his life sharpening. They were yammering at him to pay attention.

"They're here to help solve the recent murders."

As if he hadn't already figured that out. Why else would they have come? Remaining silent, body relaxed as he kept any apprehension sealed away from prying eyes, he continued to observe them. Waiting.

"They would like to speak with Detective Caine."

_Not a chance in hell._ "He hasn't woken up yet," words unhurriedly rolled over his lips, giving no source of suspicion for all that Agent Sigrun now stopped her wandering and looked over at him with trace curiosity openly marking her features.

"He speaks," the teasing cadence of her voice was only delicately touched by an accent, making its origin difficult to place.

"How do you know that he hasn't woken if you're here, Detective Griffin?" by contrast, Stone's low timbre told of Midwestern roots even as he heard within it the same curiosity that had lit his partner's face, though marred by a darker suspicion. Too many years chasing criminals, perhaps.

"I came here from the hospital less than an hour ago."

"So he wasn't awake when you left, he could be now."

"Possible." Not really. He'd told the truth when he said that Peter wasn't awake yet. He wasn't sure how, but he just _knew. _Just like he'd known how badly the kid was messed up, and why he'd insisted on the ambulance hurrying the hell up when he'd called. He'd just _known _something was going to happen, and then Peter had collapsed and stopped breathing.

"I'd like to go over there."

"Going to be a lonely interrogation trying to question a coma patient."

"We have no intention of interrogating Detective Caine," Agent Sigrun spoke up now, tone firm. "He isn't a suspect and we have no intention of treating him like one. From what we've gathered, there isn't any possible way he could have been responsible. However, we do think the killer is focused on him. We aren't certain as to why, _yet_, but there is every reason to believe he might be in danger. We don't know how the killer is picking his victims, just that they all trace back to Detective Caine somehow. It's perfectly logical that the killer intends Caine to be the final victim in the game."

The affect those two words had on Griffin's attention was instantaneous, chin snapping up as a completely unidentifiable, yet wholly dangerous expression tightened his jaw. He couldn't stop the reaction, but he managed to conceal it almost immediately.

"We read the letters."

Not quickly enough, apparently, and he was almost entirely certain that it hadn't been in the letters. The Game. That was what Peter had kept calling it since before they even found Blaisdell over in Myanmar.

_'__The game was on before Paul even left Yangon. Check.'_

Still, could have been a coincidence in the choice of her words. It wasn't exactly an unusual analogy and she may have assumed his reaction was a result of learning their assumptions about Peter's status as a potential victim.

"Where did-" and something sparked in his mind, flaring brightly to life where only darkness had been before. Only dimly did he hear the knocking at Simms' door or the Captain bidding the person to enter. But the words spoken reverberated in his office fatefully to his ears, corresponding with the clear message in his mind.

"Peter's awake."

-- -- -- -

The agents no doubt expected to be let into Peter's room immediately, but they hadn't reckoned on having to deal with Paul or Annie Blaisdell. Legally speaking, they had every right to question Peter, but it was exorcising that right that was proving to be a problem. Tired of listening to Annie lay into the federal duo, though normally an experience to be enjoyed as long as one wasn't the target of the woman's wrath themselves, he slipped into Peter's room.

Besides, he had been drawn here ever since he had first known that Peter had woken up. Had to check that he was okay. No, more than that; he had to see it. To have visual proof of what his mind assured him of without logical reason for knowing it.

The moment he entered he found himself under the close inspection of gleaming green eyes and he knew that the kid had been aware of his arrival long before he'd even neared the door to the room.

"Griffin."

"How're you feeling kid?"

The wolf blinked at the question, and eyes reopened to reveal warm hazel. "I'm fine."

Kermit's disbelieving snort unknowingly echoed the wolf's and another's. "Fine… like before fine? Because I seem to recall how that worked out," deliberately he allowed his gaze to wander over the machines still hooked up to his friend, the touch of a humorless smirk settling into an otherwise neutral surface.

An acquiescing nod, accompanied by a faint but genuine smile. "Yeah, that might have been stretching it before. It's different now though, or it will be."

How the hell was that for cryptic? Damn kid could be as irritating as the elder Caine when it came down to it. And something told him the kid still wasn't fine, even if there was a more balanced quality to him now. Best not to mention the newest murder if he wanted it to stay that way, but there was no way from keeping the Feds from doing it. Was it better if he did it?

"What's wrong Kermit?"

Dumbass question.

"Aside from the obvious," Peter clarified with a small amount of self-depreciating humor.

"There was another murder," and before it could be asked, "Commissioner Kincaid's dead."

Hazel eyes, and they were still hazel, widened with surprised as Peter quickly rose, legs swinging over the bed before his brain had a chance to register the wave of dizziness that crested behind his eyes.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the hiss came from beside him, and he almost jumped at Kermit's nearness. He hadn't seen the man shift position.

"Moving too fast, apparently," the reply was dry, and held amusement as the initial dizziness faded quickly and equilibrium was restored.

"Knock off the wise-guy attitude. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Um.. no. Not on my to-do list. I need to get out of here though."

"Oh, yeah. That's a terrific idea."

"Who's going to catch him if I don't?"

"That would be us."

Damn, he hadn't even heard the door open. Why was it that sometimes he could hear a pin drop down the hall and other times he could miss two _strangers _enter the room? Blinking and finding his eyelids suddenly heavy, he relented that being completely drained just might have something to do with it.

"Who are you?"

"I'm surprised Detective Griffin hasn't told you already," the athletic looking man responded, moving closer to both detectives; his manner was polite if not exactly warm.

Peter looked them both over with cool, assessing detachment, taking in their attitudes and attire before drawling lazily, "Let me guess, you're Feds."

"Good guess," the woman complimented good naturedly as she moved further into the room, becoming wholly visible. When she finally looked up from the file she'd been reading, she stopped movement altogether as surprise and confusion warred for dominance across her face. Eventually both were defeated by dawning comprehension, as though she'd found the missing variable that suddenly made the entire equation make sense. Eyes that had looked light brown caught the light and sparked golden.

Kermit's attention focused back solely on Peter to find that the kid looked a bit shell shocked, a wary expectation rising in his demeanor though he didn't move. Gaze caught and held like a fly in amber.

Stone didn't seem aware of any oddities, or if he was he merely ignored them and went about introductions, "Detective Caine, I'm Special Agent Andrew Stone and this is my Partner Agent Kyrie Sigrun."

Peter blinked, accepting the offered hand from Stone almost mechanically as he distantly heard himself tell them to "call me Peter". The expression on the woman's face, as he turned back to her, was one of resigned and weary amusement with subtle nuances that his overtaxed brain couldn't begin to decipher. As though she were privy to some private joke of the universe.

Shaking her head lightly, as if in disbelief, the hint of a smile touched her lips. "You can call me Kai."

-- -- -- -

It had caught him off guard, to say the least. He was still having trouble processing the information, exhaustion having robbed him of both the ability to think clearly and to focus. The scent couldn't be denied though: it stirred the primitive part of his mind and kindled with its familiarity.

Subdued now. Diminished by the light aroma of shampoo and lavender, but it was still there.

It caused tension from within and the wolf narrowed his eyes slightly. The inadequacy of human ears disallowed the pulling back of them, but the body language couldn't be missed by the intruder.

Not the one, not _the_ enemy, but an unknown was always a risk. It required a division of attention when he so desperately needed a single focus. When he couldn't deal with a war on yet another front.

_Maybe she's a friend._

_-our territory. not hers. __**not**__ belong here.-_

_She's a cop, too. Well, a Fed... I'll be gracious. _The threatening growl from the wolf indicated that it wasn't of a mind to be the same.

-- -- -- -

"Your son is awake."

The target of the accompanying searching look dropped his head marginally in acknowledgement. "Yes."

"Why are you not with him, Kwai Chang Caine?"

To ask such a question seemed foolish, somehow. The Ancient had to understand why. Wasn't it he that had told him that Peter had to deal with this whole thing on his own in the first place? "I cannot be there."

"Why?"

This time Caine merely blinked in reply as one shoulder rose in a halfhearted shrug.

"He is still Peter."

"Yes…"

"But?"

"There is something else now."

"Yes, but there has always been something else in young Peter. You simply refused to truly acknowledge it until now," there was an accusing nature to the Ancient's tone. Or was it disappointment?

Caine seemed confused and the lingering expression was one that seldom touched his face. "What I sense in him is not part of him. There are outside forces enacting their will upon him."

"That is true. There are other forces warring within his mind, attempting to lay claim. Do you not sense anything else?" Innocently curious, like a teacher waiting for a prized student to quit being stupid and realize the obvious. To see the simple answer that had always lain directly before their eyes, even as they searched far and wide for complexity.

Caine closed his eyes for a moment before shaking his head, reopening them as the Ancient's clipped voice invaded the silence, clearly not impressed.

"Open your mind, Kwai Chang Caine. What do you sense?"

"There are three outside voices within my son's mind. They are trying to conquer his will."

The Ancient sighed and this time the disappointment was palpable. "If that is true, why are you not with him?"

"I cannot help him. He will not allow me in his mind, and I will not fight him. I cannot hurt him."

"You have already hurt him."

Caine's head snapped up in surprise even as the words from his confrontation with his son echoed mockingly in his mind: _'You, hurt me? Of course not. When have you __**ever**__ done that?' _He remembered the questions clearly, just as he recalled the poorly concealed challenge that followed. There had been something in Peter then, as night reflected and pooled in gleaming eyes. Something dark and powerful and wholly primal and it had frightened him in a way he never thought his child capable of.

_'Could you destroy me?' _At that moment his son had been contemplating fighting him. An honest evaluation of the chances of successfully defeating Kwai Chang Caine, as though he were prey and not family. Then, with the words hanging in the air, Peter had vanished. There had been no sign of movement or indication that Peter had walked away. He'd simply not been there any longer, as if he had melted and merged with the night itself. The same darkness that had embraced his son not so long ago.

The same darkness that he'd felt his son embrace in return.

It was the Ancient's turn to shake his head. "You are not sensing what is there. You sense what you _believe _to be there. That is not truth, Kwai Chang Caine and you allow it to keep you from your son."

"No." He stayed away from Peter because he had felt the truth. He'd felt the anger and pain and hatred: a swirling amalgam of intense feelings whose genuine source he couldn't find. It was backed by raw power the like of which he'd never faced, and it made him afraid. Like this, his son could kill him without batting an eye when it was finished. That said nothing of what would happen to his child when and if the controlling forces ever relinquished their hold. Peter would never see the death as something caused by anyone but himself, and because of that his son would never recover from the action. Caine stayed away for both of their sakes.

"Yes. You make excuses for your fear but I wonder, Kwai Chang Caine, what is it you are truly afraid of," having said what he wished, the Ancient moved away and returned to tending the plants.

Caine was left to contemplate all the levels of meaning in those final words, left to wonder if the Ancient understood exactly what was happening to his son. What was lurking within the young man's mind.

Did the Ancient know who the killer stalking the city was? Perhaps more importantly, did the Ancient know the origin of the power that surrounded his son, so bright and strong that it shone like a black sun, bathing all around him in its dark incandescence?

_'There has always been something else in young Peter.'_

* * *

_**Note**: My brain has died - but don't worry, it was painless. However, it poses problem with me recognizing redundancy... real or imaginary. So, I'm relying on fresher minds than mine to point out any extreme redundancies. I'm willing to fix most things, if I know about them and it may well help me avoid them in the future. _


	21. Ch 21

_As ever, unbetaed. I probably should have been smart and spent time editing, but that wouldn't be me so... After almost a year of no posts, I think I just wanted to post something. Here's hoping it was at least semi-worth it. Definitely the most difficult chapter I've written. _

_

* * *

_

_Kai. _The name should be significant. Should mean _something. _But it doesn't to him and the voice is silent. _Figures, one of the few times it could be useful and it picks now to shut up. _

Whatever. What mattered was the fact that she was wolf, and just as he recognized it within her he knew that she saw it within him. Part of him wanted to ask her all the questions that had inundated his mind over the last few months, but the other part, the _wolf _part, wasn't willing to do that. Wasn't willing to trust her and was only barely tolerating her presence in its territory.

Peter could still hear the wolf growling; the low dangerous timbre was rolling around his skull, its vibration causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. The woman's only saving grace was that she appeared curiously amused, a new sort of mystification softly ghosting over delicate features. It was like she'd figured out which puzzle it was but couldn't figure out how it all fit together.

She was looking at him like _he _was different.

_**You are different, Tiger. **_

_But she's wolf too! _He cringed internally at the whiny tone that had crept into his mental voice, but dammit he was tired and in more pain than he could recall having ever been in before, and that only touched on his immediate problems.

_**Sure she is, but you aren't like her. You're special, Peter. **_

_Terrific. _Even among freaks he was a freak. It figured.

_**You are not a freak. You're just…**_

_- A freak._

_**- Unique. **_

Peter snorted in weary amusement, forgetting that the others – those existing outside his skull – couldn't hear the voices and therefore had no idea what prompted the humor. Instead they were regulated to his reactions, and that had them all gazing at him expectantly with varying other emotions flickering on their faces and within their minds. _Bright, shiny emotions just licking over their thoughts and enhancing here, dimming there…_

He shook his head to clear away the distraction, trying to regulate the niggling feeling of wrongness that came with that observation to the back of his thoughts. He had to focus. Too much was at stake to get sidetracked now.

"Pete?" The carefully modulated words hid any evidence of concern from seeking ears, but Peter knew it was there all the same. There was a soft pulsation in the air echoing like a living, beating heart and the young priest was finding the draw difficult to ignore as the reverberations ghosted across his skin and soaked down deep into the tissue.

_What the…_

Shaking his head again, this time managing to clear away the sensory oddity from surface acknowledgment, "Sorry, my brain's a little off at the moment." _Spectacular understatement._

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure that's the result of lingering medications. We all know how that is."

The faintly lyrical nature of her voice reminded him of something. Of someone, and he knew he should remember. That it was important. But she was looking speculatively at him again and the wolf still had its hackles up and its growling was giving him a headache and couldn't the damn thing just _shut up!?_

To his utter amazement it did. The wariness it exuded didn't fade, however, and Peter could feel the wolf skulking just beneath his surface thoughts; caged but waiting.

"Yeah, probably." He tried to concentrate on the scent, on the familiarity of it. Inhaling through his mouth, he let the molecules trail over his tongue in an attempt to recall the flavor. Combining scent and taste as memory provided sight in the form of golden orbs shimmering out of the darkness.

Agent Sigrun wasn't just wolf. _She had been there. _Of course she had.

Body tensing, he forced himself to remain still while guarded green eyes appraised her anew. Peter understood a certain lacking in his knowledge, but the wolf didn't. It wanted to tear and claw and sink teeth in, but it was held at bay.

And she knew it. Knew the slender strands of restraint woven around the wolf's neck and just how little it would take to get the beast to slip the tenuous control collaring it. So she kept herself perfectly still, body relaxed and manner as unthreatening as was conceivably possible under the given circumstances.

-- -- -- -

Kermit knew there was trouble. Knew it with that hard won wisdom that whispered in his ear of impending disaster. It had told him to listen to Peter back in Myanmar; to watch Peter upon their return; told him of the foreign influence touching his friend. Now it told him that things had been forever altered in the course of a single moment. That meeting. Because he didn't understand who Agent Sigrun was, but he knew what she was with crystal certainty.

He'd lived by observation. By noting reactions and expressions and ciphering through them to their base meaning and intent. By understanding them, and _oh yeah_, did he. It didn't hurt that whatever mental link had hotwired him to the kid let him in on the primal recognition felt by his friend - she was _wolf_.

She was wolf in the way that whatever was hunting them was wolf. In the way that Peter was wolf. It showed in movements and mannerisms that Kermit had noted in her before and had never entirely cast away from his mind. Her eyes, now that he knew what she was, would never look simply brown to him again. Not since he saw them alight so gloriously golden in response to visual confrontation with Peter.

Of course Caine hadn't needed all those things to tell him, he'd simply known. Recognized instantaneously something within her that, for all his own insights into the mind of the young priest, Kermit still couldn't fathom.

Had to be a wolf thing.

So did the fact that Peter hadn't stopped staring at her until her chin tipped downward in silent acquiescence of… what? Submission? If that were it, then it was an odd sort of deference that caused a crooked smile to turn the corners of the woman's lips, as though humoring a child.

And wasn't that accurate? For all that Peter might be an adult, in this he was very much a child. _A pup, _Kermit thought with a snort, and he was grateful for her at least temporary submission, because the kid wasn't up to confrontation at the moment. Too many bricks had shifted loose in the foundation recently; Peter was beyond unstable.

-- -- -- -

Kermit sent out a silent _thank you_ to whatever deity might exist that allowed the meeting to go smoothly. In all fairness to the Feds they'd been honest when they said it wasn't an interrogation; they hadn't asked anything that could directly be construed as accusation. They just seemed to know that Peter was being honest in his replies.

Or Sigrun seemed to know.

Watching and listening to her, Kermit became convinced of two things: he'd never mistake eyes like hers for human ever again and she knew more than she was saying. A lot more. From the familiarity with which she spoke he'd have been willing to bet real money that she knew who their killer was. Not just knew his profile, but knew _him_. That just didn't make sense because if she knew, why this whole thing? The questions and the entire F.B.I angle.

After information? To see what they knew? But they didn't know anything, at least nothing beyond what their murderer had to already be aware of. So why… unless it was another part of the game. If what she'd said about thinking Peter the final victim was accurate - while he didn't trust her or anything she said, he was willing to entertain the possibility because it was Peter's life and any chance was too great to ignore under those circumstances - then was this an attempt at messing with the kid's head further to make him more compliant prey?

The kid wasn't wholly himself, already walking along the edge. What would the killer do to make sure that he fell over?

Or was pushed…

-- -- -- -

Alone once again, Peter felt the headache returning. It was getting difficult to think past the pain that even hospital grade painkillers didn't seem to alleviate, but he tried and was rewarded with confusion. How did the Commissioner get taken and nobody noticed? He had wanted to ask Kermit, but the man had left with the federal agents: probably to make sure the pair actually left the hospital. So he was left wondering on his own, and he just couldn't make sense of it. Commissioner Kincaid was a high profile member of law enforcement. He couldn't just vanish without a lot of people being aware.

"He was on a retreat. Supposed to build character," Kermit snorted wryly. "Really more of a PR event though."

Peter jumped, not having heard his friend return and people really had to stop doing that to him. Kermit chuckled, and Peter realized that he had spoken the last out loud as well. Terrific.

"Welcome to the club, kid."

Ignoring that, Peter refocused on what his friend had said. "Retreat? Wouldn't that involve other people? Why didn't anyone call it in?"

"Because he was with two other law enforcement officers and three civilians and they're all still missing." He watched the helplessness flash over the younger man's face before continuing, "They're not believed to be dead. It doesn't fit with the killer's standard pattern."

"Neither does taking a group."

Kermit dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of the point.

"What I don't understand is why is he getting more covert in his abductions now? Every other vic has been a listed missing person. It never seemed to bother him before."

"The only way he could get Kincaid without a lot of publicity?" the ex-merc suggested.

"But why the Commissioner at all? And this guy doesn't do anything without a greater reason."

"I don't know kid. It's not like the man was a friend of yours."

"No," Peter tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. "But T.J. is."

"So now our killer is going after the families of people you like?"

Peter blinked, brows creasing together as an increasingly well-known awareness flickered on the edges of his perception, flirting with becoming tangible but hovering just beyond what he could reach. The effort of trying to grab on to it caused his headache to double and he gasped softly from the sudden onslaught.

"Peter."

Kermit didn't move but a slight line on his forehead gave away a visual tell of the concern that rolled off him in waves. It was comforting in some odd way.

Focusing on his breathing, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths in order to calm himself, the younger Caine responded in a near-silent voice, "If we don't figure out why he changed his operating procedure, Kermit, it's going to hurt."

Kermit raised a brow to demand further clarification, recognizing that tone, but he could tell he wasn't going to get it now.

"It's going to really hurt," the voice broke slightly at the end, but it was difficult to tell because the sound was little more than breath on the air, and Peter wasn't really conscious anymore.

Griffin looked down on the still form of his friend, a sudden dread creeping over him as he recalled the last time he'd heard that particular warning tone in his friend's voice: _If we don't find him… he's going to die, Kermit. _Peter was having a _hunch _again, which meant…

It was going to hurt.

-- -

Sweat broke out all over his body even as his pulse quickened, spreading around the unnatural warmth of his body. Fear conjured heat that the cool air was unable to alleviate. There was a sort of _slip, shift, slide_ playing out under his flesh that brought not-quite-pain exploding star bright into his mind before it faded into a distant thrum overshadowed by the feeling of strength and confidence that came with a euphoric rush of energy.

Searing in his veins, the adrenaline fueled fire prompted movement and he ran. Fast. Faster than he should have been able to, even amped up on adrenaline as he was. Each foot struck the ground with a silence that resonated in his bones and pushed him onward without reason. For no reason any more than the simple joy found in running. In moving. In knowing his place in the world.

Contentment in his harmony with this world washed over him and he couldn't help it.

He howled, the pitch and tone expressing his joy.

-- -

Peter jerked away from the hand shaking him, the tremors of his body following him into wakefulness as the adrenaline spike met reality. Gazing uncomprehendingly at the dark figure in front of him, his vision remained as it had been for the latter part of his dream. Colors, even in the dimness, weren't right and he recognized this as an important detail even as he felt something snick back into correct alignment and restore proper sight.

At the sudden shift a flood of new colors and perceptions flooded his brain and the dream was pushed into the background, buried under thoughts and feelings and sights that felt strangely alien for all their normalcy.

His body shuddered, like it was shedding a second skin, and his mind once again acknowledged his physical form and sifted through the ordinary internal emotions that any human experiences.

Human, even if he no longer completely felt like it.

"Peter?"

Blinking as though the action would help keep his attention fixed, Peter once again looked at the figure in front of him. This time he clearly recognized it as Kermit while his nose informed him that lurking in the darkness were his mom and Paul. This was confirmed as a light was flipped on and he caught the brief sight of his parents before an arm flew up to cover distressed eyes, eliciting a silent growl from deep in his throat. With their too constant… changing… his eyes were currently extremely sensitive to alterations in his environment.

At least when they'd done something like this before there usually seemed to be some type of control over it. Maybe not always _his _control, but control nevertheless.

He didn't know what this was.

"Peter?"

His mom's voice broke through the internal convoluted thought. "I'm all right." Seeking to reassure her, even though he wasn't entirely certain of the situation. Kermit had been trying to awaken him, so maybe he'd said something in his sleep?

"Where you having a nightmare?" Her soft voice was soothing, even as one of her hands reached up and met his arm, drawing it away from his face before allowing fingers to trace delicately over his cheek.

He felt foolish under the scrutiny of both Paul and Kermit. "Uh, I'm not sure." Memory pushed at the border of his consciousness but refused to materialize into anything of substance. It was an event becoming all too familiar lately.

The hand didn't leave his face, and he couldn't help but lean into the touch a little bit even if it made him feel like a child again. Or perhaps because it did, harkening back to a, well not easier time as his life had never been that, but certainly a time where his mom's presence alone could banish the demons.

"The doctor said you could go home tomorrow if all the tests still look good."

Paul's voice caused him to reopen his eyes, instantly finding his foster father's gaze and locking on it.

"Tomorrow?" Glancing over at the window, he noticed hints of morning light beginning to peek through the blinds. "How long have I been out?"

"You've been asleep a little over a day. Since it was sleep and not unconsciousness, the doctor didn't seem overly worried. He said you were responsive to their tests, and after everything your body was just worn out," Blaisdell's voice was concerned but cautious. Peter wasn't wholly certain of why. He hadn't really spoken to the man since… Since they'd had that argument at the precinct what felt like years ago.

"Oh."

"They don't want you alone-"

"I'll be fine by mys-"

Paul continued right over top of Peter's expected protest, "so your mother and I decided that you can come back to the house and stay with us."

"Kelly's still home for a few weeks until college starts back up and she's excited to have her big brother around for awhile. You haven't spent much time at the house lately," Annie added, moving her hand back down Peter's displaced arm to grasp his own.

Kermit and Paul shared a glance, refraining from openly smirking. Yeah, they'd both been on the receiving end of Annie playing dirty.

Peter rolled his eyes in a put upon fashion, "Fine, you win."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Peter, and don't roll your eyes at me, young man."

This time Griffin let himself smile.

-- -- -- -

After his parents and Kermit had departed to acquire breakfast, reassuring him that they'd be back soon, it didn't take long for sleep to once more claim him. For the trees around his dream self to become _safe, home, familiar._ Everything that that self needed to be content. Well, almost everything because even as he thought it he realized there was something missing.

_Pack. _

Where were they? He could feel them, scattered. Isolated. Alone.

Like him.

But that wasn't right. It wasn't the way it should be, so he brushed aside his confusion and apprehension and set to finding them. The closest presence was also the dimmest, and that made no sense at all. It should flare brightly in his mind, instead it was growing fainter with each passing second. For the first time in this form he felt fear lace through his system and the wolf pushed already taxed muscles into greater speed.

It didn't matter, though. He was already too late.

Cresting a hill, he saw a broken form below. Long hair flowing out over the grass, wind causing shimmering tendrils to ride the currents.

Defeated and alone, so far had the pack degenerated that none of the others were even aware of the situation, the wolf expressed himself in the most dramatic way he knew.

The mournful cry eclipsed the beauty of the night.

* * *

_A/N: I have no idea how old the character of Kelly was in the series. So after some off the wall math based on the actress and another role she was in around that time, I decided that her current age would be 23-24. Further, in my god-like way, I decided she's still in college after having taken some time off from school. She struck me as a kinda free spirit type, so what the heck._


	22. Ch 22

"I was to learn later in life that we tend to meet any new situation by reorganizing;  
and a wonderful method it can be for creating the illusion of progress while  
producing confusion, inefficiency, and demoralization." _**- Petronius Arbiter **_

_A/N - Unbetaed. Also unedited. (Should probably be un-posted.) That said, drop me a line about the way the story is going and let me know what you think. I'm no longer fully sure of the outcome, and things are shifting on me which makes me question how it reads to those outside my head. _

_**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****_

The wolf was happy. It would wag his tail and dance around, _play_, but the human didn't have the energy.

He also didn't have a tail.

It was hardly surprising that humans so seldom really understood one another, what without proper ears and a tail to communicate with. They so rarely meant what they said, or at least rarely meant _only_ what they said. There was a lot of subtext in words, which confused the wolf. Sometimes, it knew, the subtext confused the human too. Complication seemed to be the way of human things, so it figured they were all so screwed up.

Except Griffin.

That human generally didn't say something unless he meant it. He didn't mislead with twisting trails of words meant to deceive. _Sarcasm _was often involved in varying degrees, and that was a new concept to the wolf, but for a human Griffin was honest in communication. It made dealing with him refreshing. It was nice that he was pack. If only the rest were so easy.

Still, _Kelly_ was fun, it decided. She liked to play and appeared to have limitless energy: a lot like its human side when he wasn't hurt. Only hers wasn't restless, simply joyous and happy, and the wolf couldn't dislike anyone so obviously glad to see Peter.

She would have made a good wolf.

Either way, she was pack. Even if it hadn't liked her she would have been. Both sisters of its human side were because what Peter felt for them wasn't clouded by not-truths and misunderstanding. He loved them in a way that was unmarred by anything else. They might frustrate him, but that was the nature of littermates. To play with and to frustrate and to trust. The line with them wasn't a mangled mass of contradicting feelings, so with them the wolf accepted Peter's judgment.

That applied to _Mom _as well. Pack no matter what, but it was already willingly bonded to this woman. She would never have survived as a wolf, but for a human it found her one of the best. Her obvious love and uncomplicated demands showed a depth of caring yet to be equaled in any human interaction it had witnessed. She wanted nothing of Peter but for his safety and happiness, and the wolf couldn't find fault in her.

Blaisdell was a different matter. Like with the _Father_, there were many mixed feelings involved in this relationship, although nowhere near as complicated. There was hurt and a sense of betrayal, both of which concerned the man's leaving and not trusting Peter enough to explain, but there was no hate. The wolf understood trying to protect pack and, regardless of the right or wrong of the situation, it really couldn't fault Blaisdell for honestly believing it to be what he was doing. And Peter had genuine affection for him. _Dad, _Peter thought of him with a love that didn't bleed black when cut by any of the sharp-edged emotions mixed in. At the very core of the relationship it was actually a simple matter. There was no indecision about Blaisdell.

There were some friends that Peter considered like family, and the wolf had watched them all. None of them were as easily accepted as Griffin, but given a little time the wolf had approved their inclusion into the pack.

Not the _Father _though. No. It still didn't trust the man. He might have shown up at the place trying to make Peter not-sick, _hospital,_ but that didn't make amends. Couldn't negate all of the negative associations and feelings that swirled up into a chaotic whirlwind inside Peter at the very thought of him. Peter might not agree, but eventually something would have to be done.

_**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****_

"Caine," the ex-mercenary disclosed no emotion in utterance of the word, but it garnered the attention of someone currently out of sight but nearby.

Kwai Chang could hear steps nearing from behind a corner and was unsurprised when the creator of the sound proved to be none other than Paul Blaisdell. He lowered his head in greeting, though the way Kermit had said his name was hardly welcoming. Looking at Blaisdell, he was greeted with another face equally devoid of expression; blue eyes glittered coolly.

"I came seeking the location of my son. The doctor from the hospital said Peter left with you." He didn't mention how much it pained him to have to ask; to not be able to simply feel the location of his son. Something was blocking his search and it was growing stronger.

"Now you care?" Kermit's words were punctuated with a humorless snort of air, but one glance from Paul had him quieting, curious to see where his friend would allow this to go.

"He's staying at the house with us. Right now I imagine he's being spoiled by Annie and Kelly."

"Thank you." Caine turned to leave, but was brought up short when Blaisdell proved to not be done speaking.

"He's been through a lot recently."

"I am aware."

"Don't make it worse," the calm words weren't a request, they were a warning, and Caine didn't miss it. Lowering his head slightly in acknowledgement, he left the company of the two men and went to seek out his son.

He didn't expect them to understand.

Watching him depart, Kermit spoke with the same tone he'd used toward Caine, "Why would you tell him where the kid is?"

"Caine's his father."

"Biologically, sure. _You're _his father."

"Kermit-"

"No. I've watched what the two of you have done to that kid and I'm tired of it. You both might be selfish old bastards, but at least your first thoughts are of your family."

"You don't think Caine's are?"

"What I think of Kwai Chang Caine isn't fit for polite conversation."

"Well then, we don't have to worry. I can't remember the last time our conversations were polite."

That forced a weary chuckle out of the green-shaded merc, but he continued in the same vein, "My point is, when it all comes down to it, Caine's too willing to leave Peter on his own."

"I did the same."

"No, you asked _me_ to watch out for him."

There was a wealth of non-verbalized emphasis placed on the word: subtle body cues that only someone who knew the man would have ever detected. Paul could feel the intensity of the eyes glaring out from behind their ever-green world. He could suddenly understand exactly what he'd asked of his friend when he'd extracted the promise. Understood exactly what Kermit had sacrificed to make sure his hard-given word had been uncompromised. Paul could tell himself he didn't know the extremes to which Kermit would take that promise, but he'd be lying. When Kermit Griffin made a promise, he always gave everything of himself to it. It was why he so rarely made them.

It had been precisely why Paul, selfish bastard that he was, asked.

He thought about the way that, even when acting. . . wolf, he supposed, how Peter showed complete trust and faith in his fellow detective such as he did with no other. It brought an understanding of exactly what Kermit had received for all his efforts, whether the man had wanted it or not.

Family.

And he realized then that was precisely how his old friend viewed Peter. As that annoying, frustrating, couldn't-imagine-life-without, little brother. For all his loner ways, Kermit actually was a social creature. His lifestyle had turned him into a recluse of sorts; distrust in people, which had come from being a mercenary, had ensured that he would remain that way. Or would have, if it hadn't been for a promise that made him responsible for looking out for one Peter Caine. The kid just didn't know how to leave things like that alone.

Paul did to a degree. He had never forced Kermit into social situations beyond the job and an occasional dinner at the house: not until that promise. But Peter… Peter had always forced it. Had pushed his way into Kermit's life with the same infectious energy that he approached everything else with, and the effects were no longer reversible; Kermit couldn't go back.

Didn't know how to.

Paul knew his friend well enough to realize that it scared him. He'd already lost one younger brother - watching a second slip away had to be unbearable.

He couldn't help but wonder what he'd done to them both, and who was going to pay the highest cost for his actions.

_**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****_

_He watched the woman walk to her car; muscles tense with anticipation. A thrill of adrenaline ran through his body as eagerness threatened to overwhelm his hunter's instinct. Years of adherence to strict discipline kept him in place, motionless, except for the involuntary tremors caused by the rush of potential energy buzzing just beneath the skin. A moment of caught breath as the woman's eyes zeroed in on his location, but lips pulled back in an ugly sharp-toothed grin as the gaze moved on without seeing him._

_The prey stilled, blonde head coming up in alertness as though she sensed the danger. Blue eyes scanned her surroundings, unable to locate anything to explain her unease. A cop's daughter, she could possibly rationalize her sudden fear away as paranoia. A certain distrust cultivated within her simply by being the daughter of a man who dealt with the worst humanity had to offer, even though her father had never brought his work home with him. He'd refused to even discuss it where she or her siblings might overhear. At least when they'd been teenagers. _

_It wasn't paranoia, and she couldn't convince herself that it was, though nothing in the visual realm deterred that explanation. Everything seemed ordinary within the mostly empty parking lot, and the fading sun allowed for clear enough sight that she could tell nothing lurked nearby. With an abrupt shake of her head and an escaped rush of air too nervous to be genuine laughter, she moved precisely, and with remarkable calm opened the door to her car and got in. There was a click as the locks engaged and then the vehicle was started, backed up, and sent away from the source of her fear. _

_Letting free a bark that might have been a chuckle, the wolf eased his body from out of the brush; orange eyes gleamed with possibility. Nobody was around to see the black wolf; nobody saw as fur rippled and the body shifted and stretched and became something else; something different. _

_Something altogether too human._

_**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****_

The body was found in the usual manner. The call that had come in was from a hysterical young man who had been brought to the hospital to be watched for shock. The scene was no more unpleasant than that which had become the norm for this killer, but that meant it was still brutal and bloody.

Though the body itself was in the same general position the victims tended to fall in, dragged down by the creature that hunted them, there was a thick trail of blood leading to final resting place that indicated a lot of damage had occurred prior to being caught, and that was something of an anomaly. Prior to this victim, only cuts and bruises had been inflicted elsewhere, at least based on the evidence gathered. The only place of massive blood loss occurred where the person was ultimately killed, so the heavy bleeding of a victim still in motion at the time indicated something new.

The hunter's blood lust had grown.

It was no longer good enough for the creature to hunt, play and kill. Or rather, the play had taken on a whole new depth and degree of sadism. The fear wasn't enough to entice on its own now; it needed physical pain to be suffered by its prey; needed the heavy metallic scent in the air to slowly bring the hunter into its euphoric frenzy.

It needed more to achieve the same rush.

_**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****_

Orange eyes glinted hungrily as the black-furred creature paced. He wanted more. _Needed _more. The note had been left for the detective, _Peter_, even the animal side of his brain recognized the name.

The _predator-prey_.

Peter was the first of his kind, at least for him. So much. The young detective was so much to him. Opponent. Equal-but-not. Prey, but not. Not yet, though his body tingled with the desire to run and chase; to hunt and kill… there was a longing to see the blood spilled; smell as the copperish tang mixed with Peter-scent wafted from the still-warm body; taste the blood of the prize.

No, not yet.

It was hard to deny himself, even after the recent kill, and it grew harder each moment. It had been a teasing torture to hang around the precinct lately, as Peter-scent drifted freely through the air. He knew that on the occasions that he was unable to resist the lure of the _predator-prey,_ his presence no longer went unnoticed. The detective could sense Bauchan's presence just as easily as Bauchan could sense the detective's. He didn't understand why or how, but knew it to be true. Peter was wolf, but he couldn't change. Couldn't shift into the form that he was meant to run in, and that weakened him.

His prize had ended up in the hospital, and now Kai was involved. Her nearness increased the burning that seared _Claim, now! _brightly across his mind. Kai would hunt for him again, unless he killed her first. She was ruining the game. His game.

A low growl escaped his throat.

She knew he couldn't kill her. Killing outside the game would ruin it all, but the pack could hunt her for him. That wouldn't alter his focus. Wouldn't diminish his prize by stepping outside his own rules.

If he couldn't hunt Kai, and couldn't hunt Peter yet, he needed new prey. Peter wasn't playing anymore. Bauchan wasn't even sure that he'd been shown the last few notes. Perhaps the predator-prey's intensity was waning as a result? He needed to change that. To regain Peter's interest, and stoke a passion within the young detective's heart that would have him unable to quit the game again. No sitting home being weak.

But what kind of passion would burn the brightest? Justice? Love? Protectiveness?

A very human expression touched the furred countenance and lit very inhuman eyes.

Revenge.

_**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****_

_She enjoyed listening to the birds. Their songs filled her with a sense of peace and belonging as each note seemed to tie her more securely to life and happiness. Birds had always been a love of hers, ever since her father had brought the small canary home for her one rainy Sunday afternoon. Memory surfaced of glistening trails of water crisscrossing on metal as raindrops fell onto the carpet. The mock anger her mom had expressed about the wet floor vanished when the soft-looking yellow and brown creature began to sing. _

_It was that childhood affection that had her out in the morning hours, before the sun dawned, to hear the early song of day coming. The damp air clung to her exposed skin; the slight breeze caused goosebumps to rise on her arms and a shiver to rake her body. _

_She felt the nearness of fear once again, and wondered at it even as she struggled with the sudden temptation to flee as the primitive fight-or-flight reaction rose from the recesses of her mind. The front door wasn't that far away; if she turned and ran the span separating her from the house she could be safely inside within only a few moments. Nobody would see her irrational display of fear, and once behind that door she could laugh off all anxiety. _

_Even as her body set into motion to accomplish the desired action, she knew it was too late. Had been too late since she first stepped into the damp morning air. _

_She tried to hold on to the calm and peace that would allow her proper thought._

_But the birds had gone silent._

_**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****_

Two in one night. Kermit had known things were changing, escalating, but this felt like a giant leap forward. Not simply because of multiple victims, but because of who the victim was. Oh god… what could he say now? The silence on the line was expectant, but the ex-mercenary's throat had gone dry. How did he say it?

"Kid, there's been another-"

"I already heard; I'm almost there."

"No, Peter wait-" Kermit growled when silence greeted his ear and immediately tried to call the kid again. Peter couldn't come down here, not now. Not this time, because if he _saw_… Something in the mercenary's chest tightened, proof that no matter what some people thought the man had a heart and currently it was breaking.

The midnight hued stealth pulled into the edges of the light, and as Peter got out of the vehicle he stood momentarily pensive on the border, where the edges of the floodlights' radiance met darkness, before crossing toward the body. Kermit couldn't watch. Couldn't turn away. Couldn't do anything as shock dawned into horror consumed by a sort of agonized bewilderment.

It was then that Kermit realized he'd been wrong, watching as the tear tracks glimmered across the facial planes of his friend, across the disbelief and incomprehension that only served to enhance just how utterly lost Peter looked.

No, his heart wasn't breaking. It was broken.

_**** kftlc ** tsotb ** kftlc ** tsotb ****_

There were voices around him. Soothing sounds emitted from familiar throats belonging to familiar bodies. Only those throats and bodies were intact still, not torn to shreds, and… and…

The repeated noises seemed to him a name, at least it was the same order of sounds over and over.

"Peter?"

They sounded desperate, some whimsical part of his mind noted even as he again felt the pull of the known.

"Peter?"

Glancing over toward where the body lay with eyes that should have been too-familiar, except for the lifelessness that lent a foreign quality to them, and made the well-known features seem those of a stranger. As the air caught and held the long blonde hair, he felt a painful tearing somewhere he could only call his soul.

"Peter!"

Whoever they were looking for, he wished them luck.


	23. Ch 23

_I loathe the horizontal line. As a direct result of this character quirk, a variety of section breaks are employed that, in retrospect, might well be more annoying to the average reader than the horizontal line. Hunh._

* * *

Trapped.

Though the confines of Blaisdell's study were wearing on him, every instinct telling him _run, hunt, hurry, now! _as the walls oppressively closed in, he remained. A living ice form. The complete stillness that had claimed the one they knew as Peter, restless energy incarnate, rattled the already rattled, and wary grief filled glances tracked his non-movement, fled, and found themselves drifting back.

He didn't respond to anything from the external world. Nobody had been able to break through the silence and draw him out. Gradually those who were present had felt encouraged to leave the shiver-inducing cold of the study, called by the warmth of the kitchen and living room and the need for comfort from friends and family.

Kermit stood at the door, alone, ignoring the pressing desire to join the others. Instead he watched the shell of his friend, zoning on the sound of steady breathes that offered no hint of wrongness except for their presence in the wake of Carolyn's death. He didn't know what to do. Kermit felt grief for her death, and felt it for his longest living friend keenly. It extended to include Annie and Kelly within its somber embrace, but the loss he felt the hardest was through Peter.

For all that he'd never be able to put any of it into words, Kermit had accepted that he had some sort of link with Peter through which there had been a moment where he'd felt a tearing disconnect, and it had been different from that point forward. When the link had returned it felt wilder, more foreign. Unleashed but focused. With it had come an air of waiting, though for what he didn't know.

The lights in the room had been dimmed, although Kermit honestly couldn't recall who had done it and when. It was a salve to dry, pained eyes however, and he was sure Peter thought so. Well, no, he wasn't sure about that because he wasn't sure that his friend was thinking at all. Nothing on that tear tracked, expressionless face gave any indication of thought. Signs of life were limited to the breathing and an occasional blink as eyelids closed over eyes some undefinable shade of green.

Which was just odd because, while he'd grown use to them reflecting the light and thus taking on a green seeming glow, there was something different about them now. Halfway across the room with the intention of getting a closer look, instincts twinged and he stopped and slowly turned around to see the elder Caine standing where Kermit himself had been only a moment before.

At Caine's side stood the Ancient: both were unerringly focused on Peter with no small measure of surprise evident upon their faces. As Kermit glanced back to Peter, he froze. Caught by eyes that no longer glowed, but burned green, as the dark head turned toward him and that gaze calmly met those of both Shambhala masters in turn.

"Peter, you must stop this," the Ancient spoke first, which surprised Kermit somewhere in his mind that was still capable of surprise while being consumed by that gaze. He wasn't sure what was supposed to be stopped though, because other than that one movement of his head, Peter hadn't budged. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't done _anything._

Except he blinked.

The Ancient seemed to momentarily be confused. Relaxing, he stepped away from the door and turned toward the kitchen before hesitating, body visibly taut as if waging an internal battle.

"No. Peter, this is not the way," Caine reached out and gripped the Ancient's arm which seemed to ground the older man even as Peter's hollowed gaze shifted to include his father.

Still he spoke no word.

His head cocked slightly to one side, eyes alight with some dark internal fire, but for all the power held within them they were blank. Emotionless. As if the flames within were the remnants of a funeral pyre that had burned away the essence of the man to the last vestige, and suddenly the glistening silver trails beneath them, dried but still present crossing over cheeks and down the jaw, seemed so very eerie.

It was then that Kermit knew… it wasn't just the wolf there anymore. And it wasn't just Peter. There was something darker there. Something more powerful. Something that wasn't his friend.

Which left the question of what exactly the hell was it then?

Whatever it was, it was still staring at Caine and the Ancient as if they were some puzzle piece and it was debating on whether it should continue or simply toss the whole puzzle away. A vague flickering within those eyes was all that gave testament to deliberation, and all that announced a decision had been made. Through it all, not a word was spoken by it, nor were the words spoken by the two priests given any acknowledgement; any indication that they mattered.

It was only a blink, but newly raised eyelids allowed it to see the expressions on the priests' faces go slack in confusion, then transform into somber grief tinged sympathy and they turned as one to head back into the main portion of the house. Everything behind them forgotten.

Slowly then, those eyes shifted in Kermit's direction, and the sensation of burning was the last thing he remembered.

**_** kftlc ** tsotb ** __kftlc ** tsotb ** _**

The wind had picked up speed and blew through the open window with an energy the room itself lacked. Curtains spun and twisted under its influence, unmindful of the events which had transpired there.

He shouldn't have been so foolish. Shouldn't have waited to speak with Peter, and now the darkness that he'd sensed within him had risen up and snatched all traces of Peter away. It _was_ the same power he'd sensed before. Stronger, perhaps, or merely closer to the surface. Freed from whatever had kept it caged, and now Peter was gone.

Physically his son was no longer in the room, which was empty except for the still form of Kermit lying near the chair and the Ancient, who was seeking to revive the fallen man. Kermit was alive, breathing steadily, but unconscious. Not a mark adorned the man's visible flesh, but he'd been knocked out. Caine didn't have to guess as to how that had been accomplished: dark energy still pulsed within the room, diminished but not fully cleared out by the moving currents. Whatever being had been present here, it hadn't sought to kill Kermit or any of the others. Had it wished to, Caine didn't believe they could have prevented it.

What he didn't know was whether or not that indicated anything of his son survived.

_"He's still Peter,"_ The Ancient had once more insisted that it was true, casting a viciously reproving look toward Caine as he said it, but Caine remembered the taunt delivered so coolly in the open air, _Could you destroy me? Would you if you had to? I think it'd almost be worth finding out, _and he wasn't so certain. He couldn't feel Peter's thoughts, and hadn't been able to for far too long. Now he couldn't feel his son's existence, and that was a _whole_ new level of disturbance. Whatever this energy was, it kept everything about Peter shrouded in… not darkness precisely, but rather an emptiness that allowed for no light to filter through.

Could he destroy his only child? Caine prayed that they wouldn't find out.

He no longer knew the answer.

**_** kftlc ** tsotb ** __kftlc ** tsotb ** _**

Dark eyes scanned the scene with detached habitualness. No other living creature roamed nearby, he knew that and therefore wasn't entirely sure why he had bothered to make certain at all. Mildly annoyed by the unnecessary action, he strode out toward the place of interest.

The need to return to the place of death had been great, though the scent of pack-blood still wafted strong upon the air. It was distracting, but he was in hunting mode now and the grief didn't pull like it might have otherwise.

He sniffed the air delicately, testing out the air currents and sifting through the smells. There was scent aplenty around, but he was only interested in one. The faint musk of wild animal which lingered, clinging to the surroundings in silent mockery. Showing no fear of being caught. Of being hunted.

Unconsciously edging away from the location where the human had fallen, _Caroyln_, he snorted humorlessly. His prey shouldn't be worried about being caught, because he had no intention of catching it.

He was going to kill it.

He located a glimmering metal in the grass near a tree in the front yard. It was a clue; Peter had recognized that the first time one like it had been discovered. He knew what it was now, although he didn't know precisely why it had been left… but he was beginning to suspect. Someone wanted the killer dead, someone besides him, and they were playing a game to aid that outcome.

He was tired of playing the pawn.

Lifting the small pendant, a flowery scent lightly brushed his awareness, clinging to the pendant itself and overriding the earthy smell of dew dampened grass. Dark eyes narrowed as they watched the twirling shimmer of gold.

It was time for another move of his own. The gambit had already been made, and it was time to press any advantage gained.

**_** kftlc ** tsotb ** __kftlc ** tsotb ** _**

Lost in thought, she didn't notice anyone approach until a twisting metal chain appeared in her line of vision, and she jumped even as the cold, lyrical voice murmured near her ear, "Lose something?"

She knew that pendant, but more importantly she knew that voice for all its sudden difference. "Peter," she turned to face him slowly only to find him smiling, and she shivered without meaning to. "Detective Caine," she corrected, not wholly sure of what to call him, but believing Peter wasn't truly accurate at this point. Not with those eyes burning a hole into her mind, irises so dark they would have seemed black if they hadn't been backlit by some inner light.

Power washed over her thoughts, raw and unmatchable, and her normally solid shields rippled, then wavered and began to crumble under the onslaught. Just as easily as it had entered, however, it withdrew, leaving her mind frostbitten and her entire body shaking.

"You should know better than to pick up evidence from a crime scene without proper care," she chided mildly, outwardly calm.

The traces of a smirk remained on his lips, but there was cold rage barely buried below the surface. It seemed at odds, somehow, with what she would have expected, though she hadn't seen any of this coming. She hadn't seen _him_. _But I ought to have._ That was so unusual that it should've been immediately disconcerting upon meeting him. Only he hadn't been like this before, and it was only now that she was finding her lack of vision to be worrisome.

Unless he had hidden from her…

"You should have known better than to play games with me."

"I wasn't -" only she had been, if not trying to control his actions then certainly attempting to control the outcome. It had been too important to leave to chance, she'd thought, and now the consequence of that choice was staring her in the face. She _should_ have known better. "I had to try."

He nodded, as though understanding, dark gaze never leaving her golden one. "Tried and failed."

"Did I?" she mused unintentionally aloud.

A grim laugh answered, but it was in Kyrie's mind not her ears, and she fought down the anger that rose as a result of the uninvited mental invasion. No one had been capable of doing that to her since she was a pup, and it was the insult of it that prompted anger.

"You think I'm going to kill him for you," he ignored the flare of hope from her as he continued, "and you are right in that I am going to kill him. But not for you."

"He'll die; how and for what reasons are irrelevant."

"Are they? Maybe so from your perspective. Then again, maybe you should be worried about who else will pay the price for your tactics." A brow barely arched on the apathetic face, but his meaning was clear. She had cause to worry, and she was, but if she had to die to see the hunts end it was a small cost. Maybe paying it would ease some of her own crimes from her soul, lift some of the stain of guilt.

She had never tried to stop Bauchan. So many had died while she chose not to interfere.

"Tell me where he is, and I might be kind."

She didn't think kindness was likely, not from him, and still she would have told him if she could have. Kyrie didn't know. She hadn't been able to track Bauchan very easily in this city; his mental signature was warped and distilled. She'd only ever found his kills. "I don't know," she paused briefly before rushing on, compelled by some unknown reason to say, "Bauchan was good once." Funny how she almost believed that.

"He'll be good again. He'll be dead." Turning away, he clearly meant to depart and yet he half-turned back toward her. His profile remained impassive, and still there was an odd vulnerability present as he asked a final question, "did you know that he would kill her?"

Kyrie almost sighed but managed to restrain the noise. She suspected he knew it regardless. "I knew that he would continue to kill those close to his primary prey until such a time that he chose to end the game." End it. Kill Peter, in this case.

He nodded once more, the meaning of which was lost to her, and he did leave then.

**_** kftlc ** tsotb ** __kftlc ** tsotb ** _**

He might not have gotten a useful answer of where Bauchan was, but that didn't stop him from looking. This city was large, larger than his own had been once upon a time, and he felt a strange sentiment rise within him. _Homesickness_. He longed for the old ways. But they were dead, and nobody understood death and burial better than he. He had to move on, and that meant finding the killer of his chosen blood.

This city, unlike his own, held an uncountable number of taints within the air. Sure he could narrow that number by excluding the goodones. The light ones. The ones that didn't cause murder and mayhem, but that left so many others that it made his head hurt. People had always been complex, but they had gotten more so over the years, and sifting through them all was difficult and far too time consuming. Luckily he could lessen the potentials even further when he searched for the touch of the wolf upon the populace.

What he found surprised him. There were hundreds of signatures in the wind. Some were stronger than others, but that didn't lessen the shock. How had they spread so far and become so many? And he found himself angered by this rather than pleased, because it meant he'd still have to hunt through many to find the one, when all he wanted to do was locate him and rip out his throat.

He hadn't existed so long without learning to control his annoyance, and yet his human blood called loudly for vengeance. No, for _justice_. That was harder to temper down and hone, but he'd been well trained in that temple. For all his impulsiveness and infamous hotheadedness, he was remarkably trained. So he called upon that training and his ancient patience, and began to search.

Time continued as his mind scanned for traces, but he was barely aware of its passage as he kneeled, even though black jeans soaked up the moisture from the ground and chilled the flesh of his knees. Minutes. Hours. It didn't truly matter, everything considered.

Inhaling deeply, tip of his tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth as he savored the scent, he smiled. Eyes no more than pools of dark light glimmered coldly at the prospect of enemy blood and he moved to follow the path his senses laid out for him to follow.

The rise from the ground was fluid, muscles uncomplaining though they ought to have been stiff from the long period of immobility. Deft fingers quickly checked the clip in his Beretta, and for the presence of the knife at his ankle, before he melded with the darkness.


	24. Ch 24

_**A/N**: You probably know the drill. It should be betaed, I might come back later and rework it - but probably won't unless some glaring error turns up. Considering how long most of this has been written, it's really rather sad it took this long to post it._

* * *

"Where are they?" Bauchan was furious. He'd called his pack together and yet a few had simply not shown up and others, guards, now failed to respond to his most recent inquiries. Orange eyes narrowed, a growl rolling up from low in his throat, as he looked into the dimly lit expanse. To wolf eyes it wasn't close to dark, but even so he tripped over the motionless form almost completely hidden at the intersection of hallway. He heard breathing and the beating of a heart, so the wolf wasn't dead, though for his failures he might end up that way.

Later. He didn't have time to deal with that at the moment because there was an intruder in their den; a scent of damp earth and sickly sweetness crept delicately though the halls. Instincts beckoned him to recall the extreme familiarity of that incongruous smell, but time was of the essence and the worry faded to the back of his mind to be sought after another time.

Silently he informed those nearby of the breach in security, and fell into hunting mode along with the rest of the pack. Bauchan slipped through the halls, heading toward the main room, which had, until recent acquisition by the pack, served as a warehouse; hallways were courtesy of outer laying offices. He reached his destination, true darkness reigning as every last candle had gone out in his absence. He resisted the urge to growl at incompetence again, and moved forward.

He was wolf. The darkness didn't frighten him… but the voice stopped him cold.

"It is sad when one's packmates fall," the words were lightly accented, unfamiliar yet familiar. Near and far. A desolate echo reverberated within it. Bauchan had heard it before and yet he was certain he'd never heard it in his life. The amiable sound to the statement didn't conceal the chill in the voice, and Bauchan couldn't prevent the shudder that ran over his body.

A light flared into existence: a large candle on the central table flickered with new life. Without apparent visual source the act was repeated with every other candle around the room. Confusion might have persisted except that he could feel an oppressive energy in the air, accompanied by an odd mixed scent reminiscent of ozone and smoke, touched by dirt and sweetness, and had no doubts as to that being the origin of the candles' fire.

Movement was detectable in the near perfect shadows on the other side of the large room, far enough away that it didn't immediately cause concern, but as the owner of the voice stepped into the play of light Bauchan recognized his prey.

"Peter Caine. We meet at last." Bauchan didn't allow his renewed confusion to register on smiling features, unable to equate the intruder's smell to the one he'd come to recognize as belonging to the man before him.

The cliché of the greeting didn't seem to phase the detective in the slightest as Peter merely bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement, expression unreadable in the ever shifting shadows. As he prowled further into the room, what had initially been deduced as the fire's influence on reflective eyes soon proved an incorrect assessment. The maelstrom of light and darkness tempestuously shifting within those depths was born of something more powerful than a candle's flame.

Far more.

For the first time in memory Bauchan felt the icy hold of fear take root within him. Peter was a human… a distant drop of wolf blood at the most. This. This was something new.

_Old._

The word slithered through his mind, the bite of frost stimulating a deep ache from the confines of his skull. Though he'd never experienced anything like it before, he knew the feeling with an animal's certainty.

It felt like death.

Anger at the intrusion was swallowed wholly by the unfamiliar fear, and instantly put Bauchan on the defensive: a position in the game he was only familiar with through observing his prey. Fury rose anew at the prospect, and backed into a metaphorical corner seeking to become literal, he pulled himself together in readiness. "How nice of you to come visit me." Wrath didn't allow the fear to grip him again, and he allowed the rush of energy that brought to him as every sense focused assessingly on the threat.

"Nice…" the slow chuckle that followed the repeated word was lightless and cold, birthed in the recesses of the grave, but Bauchan was past the fear. Life and death were merely games.

So he grinned when Peter made his move, a controlled attack so quickly done it was faster than the eye could follow, and it had Bauchan shifting as fast as he could to the left in order to evade the blow. The same arm that missed him initially, changed directions and caught him in its back motion. The glint of metal was visible within the hand's clutch, and he barely avoided the slice.

He debated changing into a form better suited to killing, but the furious onslaught disallowed him the brief moment required for it. If he changed now, he'd be vulnerable for a second and that second is all it would take for his attacker to cut him open. So he remained in human form, but tugged free the knife graciously provided to him as it embedded itself into the wood of the floor in front of him. He might disdain such weapons, preferring those that nature equipped him with, but the man-made claw would suffice.

Bauchan lunged eagerly forward and swung with the hand bearing the blade, but his opponent ducked just as swiftly and caught the arm at the elbow with his own and jerked backward, sending Bauchan off balance and into the wall. He recovered fast enough to avoid the blade, hearing the ding of metal off concrete blocks as Peter wasn't able to abort the motion quickly enough. Even as he heard the dull metallic contact, Bauchan was spinning around with his own knife poised.

Peter didn't duck, and the knife carved its way deeply across a cheekbone, just narrowly missing the corner of one unflinching eye. That was too bad; Bauchan had removed an eye from each of his prey except in the instances of the cop Peter hadn't like and the man's sister. The former because he hadn't been worthy, and the latter because he'd felt it would be disrespectful to a true packmate of Peter.

Still, taking Peter's eye would have been poetic, not to mention helpful in the fight. Oh well, that couldn't be helped now, he figured, as he smoothly relocated himself out of harms way.

It might not have been how he wanted, but first blood was his. He could smell the tantalizing copperish scent in the air, and the hunger rose forcefully.

A series of volleys followed, too quick for thought, and he spun out of reach of the newest attack. The motion placed him far enough behind Peter that he should have been able to twist back around and gut him, did so, but Peter was suddenly gone from Bauchan's line of vision. The next moment he felt pain flair up as a force impacted his knee, taking his leg from under him, and a simultaneous swipe of metal that cut across his spine and shoulder blade and embedded into the softer area under his arm as he went down. A chunk of flesh ripped away as the blade was pulled back and free, courtesy of the almost hook-like feature on the end of the knife. _Damn serrated blades_, and immediately he wondered where he might get one like it.

Peter moved around him, stalking steps as he considered his prey, and Bauchan might have been able to relate to the feeling except Peter's face was empty. Dead, when Bauchan always felt so alive. Still felt so alive even though he was on his knees and bleeding. Alive because for all that, he wasn't dead yet and had no intentions of becoming so. He rose, somewhat less gracefully than preference would have dictated, but his grip on the knife never faltered. He was relaxed and ready for anything.

Still, he might have jumped at the sound of gunfire if for no other reason than the sheer unexpectedness of the noise. It was distant enough, outside the building, and he became aware of the far-off sound of sirens. Police.

They shouldn't know where he was, yet they did. Somehow, given Peter's current state, whatever _that_ was, Bauchan didn't think that he told the police where to find him. But someone had.

He twisted and ran, ready to feel the pain of a knife in his back but unable to stay and allow the cops to trap him. The expected attack never materialized, although there was a heavy sound of impact behind him.

Bauchan didn't look back as flesh melted and reformed.

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It growled, low and dangerous, at the man rising opposite of it. Only the smell of _pack_ kept it from lashing instinctively out as it was tackled and sent flying from the momentum.

The man didn't growl back, but it figured it was a near thing.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Griffin."

Kermit internally flinched at the tone, but didn't balk. Peter didn't scare him, wouldn't scare him, and he didn't give a damn what else was in there. He had to believe that there was something left of his friend, and it wasn't an unrealistic hope. Kermit was nothing if not a realist, which is why he'd had to have proof. The fact that the link was still there, altered, but still there, and that Peter hadn't killed him when leaving, nor had he killed any of the guards here that Kermit had come across, made him believe that Peter was still in there. Maybe not fully in charge, but there nevertheless. A part of a whole.

That in mind, Peter _was_ going to kill the guy who just ran off. He had no doubts about that. Which meant that was probably the killer, and that Peter… whoever… was probably pretty pissed off at him right about now for interfering. Well, tough. He couldn't let Peter kill, no matter who was in charge. Couldn't let him end up in prison or worse when he got caught, because he would get caught. The kid wasn't even trying to be subtle. Would have continued fighting even with the arrival of the police.

"We have to get out of here, unless you want to end up in a cell." That probably wasn't accurate, they could explain their presence here without drawing suspicion, but they couldn't explain Peter's eyes, or the blood that stained one side of the man's face, and no cop worth their salt was going to miss either. He reached in his jacket and pulled out another pair of sunglasses, black and completely unlike his own, and offered them to Peter.

"Put those on." When Peter made no move to take them, or any movement at all, he added a commanding bite to his tone, "_Now_." Though he doubted the command brought about the desired reaction, something within responded enough that Peter did reach for the glasses and put them on. Safely obscuring the curious feature from prying glances. Kermit grabbed a cloth covering one of small tables and handed it to the kid, who surprisingly swiped it diligently across his face, removing most of slowly coagulating blood and revealing smooth, unmarred skin underneath. The warning bells in the back of Kermit's mind were clanging, but he managed to speak over them, "We need to move."

When no further response was given, Kermit grabbed the front of Peter's leather jacket and used the grip to propel him in the direction of the door he'd come in from. When Peter seemed to acquiesce to the physical demand, Kermit wasn't so foolish as to not realize that Peter's compliance was all that allowed the success. While Kermit wasn't weak, despite those who wrote him off as nothing more than a computer geek, there was no doubt in his mind that nobody would have moved Peter right then if he hadn't done it voluntarily. It was something he could feel, like built-up static charge in the air on a cold winter day. He'd almost expected a shock when he'd touched Peter. Kermit wasn't tuned in to any higher planes, but even he could sense it and he was pretty certain now that this was what had the Ancient and Caine so uneasy. This subtle power that he'd caught pale reflections of, only there was nothing subtle about it now and he was pretty sure that anyone could detect the potential threat, even if they didn't understand what they were detecting. It was making _him_ want to reach for his gun, and right now they had to go through a group of police officers…

He couldn't do anything about that - he could cover up the eyes with glasses but that feeling he couldn't do a thing about. It was going to make people twitchy, and as he shoved Peter in the direction he wanted him to go, Kermit could only hope that Peter behaved.

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"Should I bother with the questions, or merely kill you now."

She rose and spun around quickly. It was an instinctive movement that barely registered as more than a blur of motion to normal vision. Amber eyes glinted in animal alertness before seeing who stood near the park bench on which she had been seated.

"Bauchan." It was a greeting that betrayed none of her startled unease, even as she cursed herself for not paying closer attention yet again. She should have known he was there before he was there. Her _vision_ should have told her so, and still it was strangely absent.

The smile Bauchan allowed to touch his features was tight, no more than a thinning of quirked lips. "First you betray me by running out on the pack, and now you betray me again. Did you think I would not know of your intentions, Kai? Did you think I would not realize your attempts to lead the police to me?" She didn't try to explain, or lie her way out of the accusation, and that was something he'd always admired about her. There was an odd flicker that appeared oh-so-briefly in her eyes, at the mention of the police, that told him he wasn't quite right about his guess. "No, not the police. The cop. _My _cop. You were trying to lead Peter Caine to me." Bauchan couldn't help the disbelieving laughter that escaped him.

Kyrie's chin tilted up, ever so subtly in defiance, but she remained silent. She wouldn't lie, but she wouldn't help him figure anything out either. For a moment the pure Kai-ness of the action brought a wave of nostalgia cresting in his mind, but he shook it off. He wouldn't be distracted; her tricks wouldn't work any longer.

"I mean to kill him too, you realize."

"Then whether or not he was aided shouldn't matter, should it?" she asked lightly, as though she didn't care about the answer. He knew better now.

"You interfere in my game! With my prey! These things occur when I will them to, not at your command you interfering bitch."

She blinked, astonished by both his outburst and the vulgar word cast at her. Bauchan didn't swear and he most certainly didn't lose control like that. Except he did and he had, and she wasn't entirely sure what that meant, unless…

"You're scared."

"Try not to be more foolish than you can possibly help. I am not afraid of some human."

She continued, as though not having heard him, and the astonished curiosity lingered on her face, "Because you've awoken something unsought and now you're not certain how to deal with it."

"So he's a bit wolf too, that hardly makes him a match for me," but there was quiet doubt in the voice. Bauchan didn't entirely believe what he said, but he wasn't sure why because what he said was true. He wasn't afraid of any human, and he had proven repeatedly that humans didn't stand a chance against him.

"But you know all this. You know that there's more, because you've felt it too." And she laughed. _Laughed_. Genuine amusement, aimed at him, yes, but more at the situation. Then she casually tossed his words of earlier back at him, "he'll probably kill us both, _you realize_."

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It wasn't angry. The pack-killer had gotten away, true. Their own packmate had allowed for it to happen, also true, but it wasn't angry. The pack-killer would be tracked down again; it could still taste the wolf's scent as its path glowed in his mind. Yes, the prey could run all it wished. It would catch it.

Afterall, nobody outruns death.


	25. Ch 25

"Why do you fight me over this cop, Kai? What makes him so special that you would go against your pack in order to aid him?"

She couldn't help it, she snorted a weary laugh. "What makes you think it has anything to do with Peter?"

"_Peter_," he echoed the name back to her with significant emphasis. "You fought us once to save his life. He and Paul Blaisdell would both be dead already were it not for your interference. Tell me Kai, have you developed a soft spot for this human?"

She didn't reply with the obvious, _now who's being foolish_, but she couldn't keep herself from thinking it. "Are you really so blind to have missed noticing the attempts to stop your hunts before all of this? Did it truly take direct confrontation before you realized I was working against you on them?" She saw the muscle in his jaw jump as he bit down on his anger, but his response was surprisingly calm.

"I suppose your actions must be blunt if you are going to plot against me so poorly that your moves go unnoticed as well as without result. You stopped nothing. You did not even hinder my hunts."

"And yet here we are."

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Her calling had worked. Now she just had to figure out what precisely she'd called and try to bind it before it got carried away. Kai couldn't have foreseen that it would choose someone to inhabit; couldn't have foreseen that the person would be a cop; couldn't have foreseen that it would be a cop that Bauchan was going to hunt, either. But that was the problem with callings: they were hard to direct, and she'd known that when she'd chosen to perform it.

Stopping Bauchan was worth it. Putting an end to all the hunts was worthy of any effort she could provide. It shouldn't matter that one clueless police officer got caught up in the aftermath of her calling. It did matter though. It had to, or else she wasn't any better than Bauchan.

An Ancestor was what she had expected to get. An entity with whom she could reason. She'd planned carefully to avoid getting a hardcore killer, which would have only compounded her problem.

It really was remarkable. In truth, she shouldn't have had the skill to call forth what she had, but that was life, wasn't it? A random falling of all the things that shouldn't happen, happening. But no, it wasn't only the skill she should have lacked in this calling. It was the power. She really didn't have the necessary strength to bring one of the old ones back.

But it _was_ back.

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He'd been watching in silence as the dark-haired individual in front of him blatantly sniffed the air, dark-fire gaze constantly roving the city below. Searching, which was obvious, but Kermit didn't know what he could possibly be trying to see in the mottled star-pattern of lights that marked the city beneath them.

Peter didn't like heights. Clearly whoever was running things at the moment didn't have the same phobia, as he crouched on the building's edge like an impassive gargoyle. The familiar features were as immobile as if they'd truly been carved in stone, which only added to the imagery playing in Kermit's mind.

"What the hell is going on?"

The dark head cocked ever so slightly to one side, in a manner reminiscent of canine curiosity, before the man to whom it belonged replied without bothering to tear his gaze from the cityscape, "Hunting."

Kermit couldn't help the weary snort that escaped him, "Not that I don't understand the impulse to hunt this son-of-a-bitch down, but you have more pressing issues right now."

In a voice barren of all emotion, cold and severe as the arctic tundra itself, an answer came forth, "If you had not interfered, the hunt would already be over. Until it is done, it remains the issue."

"What about the rest of the family? They're grieving right now and you just left them. They need Peter there. You selfish -" Kermit didn't even have time to inhale before he found himself some twenty meters from his previous location, shoved against the solid wall of the roof entrance with hands twisted in the material of his jacket and pressing him roughly into the hard surface. Gone was the passionless mask on his friend's face, replaced by an icy fury that seemed to leech the oxygen from the very air, making it impossible to draw in another breath.

"Do not presume to lecture me on proper methods of dealing with this situation. I have existed far longer than you can conceive of and will exist long after your corpse lay rotting within the ground. The pack-killer would be worm-food if you had not interfered. The only reason you yet live is that you are pack to _mine_."

Kermit's brain took a moment to process that; the straight-forward realization of who'd had really just spoken stunned him. He'd known this influence existed probably as soon as it had taken up residence within his friend. He'd felt its taint upon the link that Peter had somehow forged with him, but for all that knowing it was the first time he looked at his friend's physical form, listened to his voice, and saw and heard only the entity. Everything familiar was gone, and in its place something new had set up shop.

Or really old, if the… shit, what was he supposed to call it?

"What are you?" He managed the words in spite of the crucial oxygen still being denied him. There was a slight loosening of those inhumanly strong fingers, and although they hadn't physically been responsible for his inability to properly breathe, Kermit found himself able to draw breath once more. It was as if the physical act of fingers loosening caused the air to respond in kind, though it remained chill enough for the newly exhaled air to remain visible.

"You ask that question as though you would truly comprehend its answer," and with that the being dropped its hand from Kermit altogether, moving once more with that economic grace that so marked the personality. No movement was wasted in the precise approach to, and short leap back up onto, the ledge of the short wall on the roof, where it melted down into a crouch once more.

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It was more difficult to locate this time. The height should have given an advantage to seeking out the trail but failed to do so. There seemed to be an energy hovering in the air that made the paths murky and mingled. Like dyes cast into the water only they didn't combine, exactly, rather they seemed to break apart and spread out, like the frayed ends of a rope. One path turning into a thousand paths, interspersed with the thousand paths of another. As such, each individual path remained perceptible to its mind, and yet woven over far too great an area so that it remained unable to pinpoint a precise location. Instead it was left with only a generalized place which simply was not acceptable.

To cover the whole area would take too long. Had its true form been available maybe that would have been a different story, but as it was it was met with some very real human limitations. When it had first realized these constraints in searching it had again sought to break free from the fragile body encasing part of its essence, but that had been no more successful than previous attempts had been. For whatever reason it was bound to the human. Something like this shouldn't have been possible. Even with as small a portion of itself that was currently here, it should have been able to draw away from a given host.

Gathering the rest of its self as it filtered through, after doing so, would have taken longer with no secure and absolute body of location in which to collect, but such a thing would have been possible. Should have been possible.

But it was stuck. Only it wasn't just that it was trapped inside a mortal casing, but it could feel as its own essence slowly mingled with that of Peter, not precisely becoming one but certainly becoming tangled: some places blurred out entirely. Already it wasn't certain if Peter would survive when it had fully collected itself here and then departed this form.

It ought not care, really. Humans died. That was what they did. And yet Peter was pack now, regardless of why, and that made it care.

_ Annoying damn cop._

The small burst of emotion caused a pause within it as that was a reminder of another problem. It was beginning to behave erratically. With emotions rather than logic, and that was not _it_. Prolonged exposure to Peter was causing the human's nature to filter into its own, fusing so seamlessly together that sometimes it couldn't even immediately remember what its own true nature was in reference to what they together now were. After countless years of existence and now it was having an identity crisis…

There was no more a patient hunter than it, and yet it knew without having to consider, that Peter would be pacing and talking and probably crying, given the circumstances. If it stopped and listened to the silent presence shut down by grief, it was almost certain it could feel the tears drowning out an all too-familiar and almost loved voice.

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Kai was alive. Bauchan had left her there, unharmed, without really understanding why. It wasn't mercy. Creatures such as he didn't acknowledge those concepts, perhaps couldn't truly understand them. Mercy was a human thing, not an animal thing, and Bauchan was wolf. Perhaps he simply agreed with her assessment that his cop was going to come after them both, although what made her think that Peter Caine would bother with her was beyond his ability to fathom. She hadn't done anything, afterall.

But Kai had always been strange. It could have been a feeling she'd had, or perhaps she'd seen something that told her as much. He couldn't possibly know the depth of her abilities; she'd never been big on sharing. In fact it was those very abilities that he attributed her traitorous turn to: they'd always seemed to make her less wolf than those around her.

A head shake followed: an attempt to clear his mind of the pointless thoughts. He'd killed the sister of his prey in order to gain all of Peter's focus, annoyed at the split in the man's attention. Well, he'd certainly garnered that focus, only now he wasn't so certain that had been a good idea. He wasn't even sure why he had done it, truly, because it fell so far outside of the norm of his usual actions. Bauchan was a wolf. He was clever and subtle and he never set it up so that his prey would be the one searching him out. Peter wasn't meant to be the one hunting him, attacking him, forcing Bauchan into the defensive role. That wasn't the way this worked, but he'd done it anyway and now he wasn't sure how to deal with the fallout.

Had Peter simply been human this would have merely been an interesting twist to an already exciting hunt, but Bauchan was beginning to understand that there was no merely about Peter… and Peter wasn't just human. There was wolf lingering within his bloodline, somewhere, but it was diluted enough that until recently Peter hadn't even been aware of it. Nobody had. Bauchan was more than a match for someone so barely touched by wolf. It was the _other _that made Bauchan doubt. He didn't know what that was because it wasn't human and it most certainly wasn't wolf. It had felt ancient and cold and he could still hear the whisper of fear in the back of his thoughts if he listened: an instinctual understanding that, as wolf as he was, he couldn't comprehend the meaning of. Death, his mind told him. Peter Caine was death, and yet there had been no trace of it when he had first met the cop. Nothing to hint at this latent power, which could only mean it came from elsewhere. That it wasn't Peter, but something else. Kai's involvement made more sense now. What lengths had she gone to in order to stop the hunts? Exactly what had she brought here and…

How was he meant to combat something _other_?

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There it was. Curling around the city like stray wisps of smoke, the essence had spread out, but it had a lock now. Without a backward glance, it gathered his muscles beneath and leapt from the building's rooftop, ignoring the startled shout behind it. Moments later it landed in a controlled crouch, numerous stories down from where it had jumped. It could feel the aftershocks pulsating through the length of his body, human beings not meant for drops of even a fraction of that, but it gathered itself together and brushed away the strain, and took off after the scent. Everything of its being was focused on its prey, so intensely that nothing else really existed beyond: track - find - kill. It helped that Peter and it were in agreement upon this course of action. Distant as Peter had become, just a quiet presence in the mind of the creature they were together now becoming, it mattered that he wanted this too. The shadows clung to it, as it raced along the streets unseen.

Nobody ever saw death coming.

Slowing up a moment, it paused. The pack-killer had recently been to the park, to the bench that was now in front of it, and not long ago. It could feel an abrupt rise of emotions, but kept the tide of feelings at bay through sheer strength of will. If those emotions crested, they would overwhelm a being that had no experience in dealing with such matters. A full body shudder ran over it, an attempt to shake off such trivial matters. It was getting more difficult for it to do as the hours wore on - as it closed in on the pack-killer and the endgame.

A breeze wafted by, bringing with a stronger breath of the long searched for scent. So very close now, and it moved to close the distance. Soon, soon blood would be theirs to claim.

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Nobody could have missed its coming. A wave of pure chilling desire that washed over those before it. Bauchan was reasonably certain that even a human could have felt it, even if they couldn't have understand its objective. It desired blood. Death. He could understand that, having wanted to claim both numerous times from his prey, only this time he understood he was the prey. That this was the culmination of events that he had put into motion months ago when he first hired the group of mercenaries to come into Myanmar. What was meant to be a hunt in the forests turned into something much larger than he could have ever anticipated. If he was capable of thinking in terms of mistakes, he might have acknowledged a few along the way, but he wasn't and all he could think of was the coming fight.

Shape shifting without thought, so ingrained was the ability, orange eyes narrowed in anticipation as he stilled his body. Waiting. Live or die, he'd do it as a wolf.

Senses so much sharper in this state, he still didn't hear when Peter arrived. One moment there was nothing but the chill in the air, and the next the unmistakable form of his enemy was before him. There wasn't time for banter, even had he been in human guise, for as soon as he became aware of the presence it was already in motion.

He caught the blur of movement, and felt pain explode along his body as he crashed into the trunk of a tree. Without a second spared for clearing thoughts, he felt metal bite into his flank and smelt the metallic tinge in the air that told of fresh blood. Growling he lashed out with claws, twisting his limber form to meet the threat with the addition of teeth. Sharp canines clamped down hard on flesh as they met the hand wielding the knife.

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A soft hiss was the only acknowledgement that it seemed to give the wound before it raised his other arm and jammed the hand up under the wolf's throat in an attempt to loosen the hold of teeth on his hand. The strength behind the muscles went beyond this human's limitations, and it used every ounce of that power to press into the wolf's trachea.

Hate. The word screamed inside its thoughts as the expressed emotion poured over mental banks and flooded over it. _Hate. Hate. Hate. _They hated this creature. This wolf that dared to take their sister. _Their_ pack. They wanted it dead.

Fingers dug deeply into wolf flesh in return, through fur and hide, the unrelenting grip piercing like teeth into his throat. Blood welled up under the assault; warm and wet it ran over human skin in rivulets.

The whine of pain from Bauchan drew a sharp, unpleasant smile from it. It would kill this creature. Would teach the pack-killer what true death was… the hold loosened momentarily, as with another shake of his head, it tried to beat back the still rushing emotions. It felt something pulling within the mind, trying to take control or gain attention, it wasn't sure. It couldn't allow this now, not when they were so close to justice.

_ Is this justice?_

The question was silent, existing only within the realm of thought, but the presence was unmistakable.

_** We need this. The pack-killer deserves this!**_

There was no reply to the outburst, and though it clenched his jaw in irritation, it gave no other signs of the inner turmoil as drew the hand back that had been tearing into the wolf and punched into the delicate muzzle with all the force it could gather.

The wolf let go.

With a hacking snarl, the beast attempted to rise. Animal eyes brimming with pain and anger, never leaving the ever-shifting dark fire gaze that didn't belong to the cop he'd hunted so gleefully, for all that they rested within his face.

It rose, too. Watching the wolf while drawing the injured hand protectively into the shelter of his body. It felt that ache, keenly now, along with deep gouges ripped into various points across his body caused by raking claws. And that was wrong, because it shouldn't be able to feel all of this pain: the hurt from the wound; the still frayed nerves and muscles that had protested movement ever since it leapt from the roof of the building; the emotions that just wouldn't settle back into their banks and cease their unrelenting pounding on its being as they tried to break its shields. It wasn't meant to feel. It didn't feel, yet none of it would go away.

It wanted it all to stop and tried its best to ignore the internal assault as it darted quickly forward, knife still held but mostly useless as the numbed fingers wouldn't respond to its bidding. The damage to the nerves and overall trauma to the hand made it impossible to even unclench the fist to drop the weapon.

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The movement didn't escape the wolf's notice and, crouched low to gather muscles, he sprang with all the power still possessed. Landing first away from Peter, before pushing off the ground once more and solidly connecting with the man's back. Peter hadn't been able turn quickly enough, seeming distracted, and the impact sent them both into the dirt. Bauchan could feel the cracking in the vulnerable body beneath him as his weight settled on top, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth in a facsimile of a grin.

Bauchan moved, his intent to get a better angle on the back of the neck presented to him, and hind legs slid off the body and onto the ground. As he went to bite, Peter rolled sideways. His good hand came up to meet the descending jaws, catching Bauchan under the muzzle once more, and pressing up to keep the lethal teeth away. At the same time his legs were curling up toward his torso, so that when the rolling motion stopped, the bulk of Bauchan's body was kept at bay by the feet pressed into his chest even as legs bent further toward Peter's body. Moments later the bending ceased as Peter pushed back and away with inhuman strength and very human learned muscle control. Using the distance created and the momentum from the action itself, Peter gained his feet and straightened.

With an angry snarl, Bauchan ran at him before darting away. He kept up the game for a short time, seeking to wear his prey down. Peter had slowed some, no doubt from injuries sustained, and Bauchan used that to get behind him and jump. Though agile yet, he was unable to completely adapt for a sudden shift in Peter's direction. Claws still managed to tear into clothing and skin, but only superficially, as Peter's body ducked into a forward roll. Bauchan landed and turned with staggering speed, and launched himself again at his enemy. Claws were set into the vulnerable and briefly exposed back.

The too tempting target may have been a calculated ruse, for all that Bauchan could tell, because even as he was landing Peter moved again. Nails had just begun to dent skin as Peter came out of his roll, body sinuously shifting as the arm with the injured hand came backward forcefully and the serrated teeth of the knife bit hard. Stretched out as Bauchan was, due to his leap forward, the knife burrowed into the area where front leg met soft under-body and lodged there.

The sharp yelp as pain flared wasn't capable of being quieted and, unable to get a strong purchase in the body beneath him, Bauchan's momentum carried him forward and he landed in an ungraceful heap. Though only peripherally aware of it, he could hear the soft gasps of breath from Peter that indicated he wasn't faring much better.

Bauchan tried to reach under with his teeth and tear the knife free, but was unable to do so. Both the serrated edges of the blade and a general pain-induced inability to contort his body, prevented it. As he lay there, trying to catch his breath, he couldn't help but wonder if the area of the knife's connection had been intentional.

That was twice now that he'd been stabbed in what amounted to the same location, though in two different forms, by the same weapon. He huffed a breath out - half grim amusement, half exasperation.

The amusement didn't last long.

* * *

_**A/N** Wow. Finally updated. Not sure the two-and-a-half year wait was worth it though. About the first half was done way back before the last chapter was posted. I really don't think I even know what's going on in this fic anymore. Hope it makes sense. Also, I hope the weird pronoun usage doesn't throw too many people - there is a reason its written like that._


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